A Road Ridden With Chaos
by Trickster666
Summary: Alanna’s eccentric life at the convent leads to far more unconventional adventures elsewhere. She thought her dreams of becoming a heroic warrior of Tortall were unachievable, but the Goddess still intends her Chosen One to travel a thrilling path.
1. A New Dream

CHAPTER 1: A New Dream

Disclaimer: _This disclaimer will go for this and each following chapter, which means I will not be writing one again in this story and yet will always be going by the same terms. If someone is not happy with this disclaimer, please tell me and tell me why. _I hold ownership rights to the new characters and the plot, but everything else belongs solely and justly to Ms. Tamora Pierce. I swear that I will under no means so much as dream of making money off the following works.

If anyone possibly knows how to indent or skip lines (in between scenes, for example), could you fill me in, please? I'm struggling with the Edit/Preview system. Thanks!

Summary: Alanna of Trebond's eccentric life at the convent leads to far more unconventional adventures elsewhere. She thought her dreams for becoming a heroic warrior of Tortall were unachievable, but, apparently, the Goddess still intends her Chosen One to travel a thrilling path, though not the exact same as previously planned.

This is rated T for swearing and romance.

Okay, onto the story!

* * *

Alanna of Trebond, feeling lost and confused, stared doubtfully up at the gray building looming over her. According to her plans, she should be disguised as a boy and heading south towards Corus to spend eight years training for knighthood in the royal palace. Now, though, she found herself cowering in the intimidating shadow of the Convent of the Mother of the Mountains, where all noble girls went to study the role of a lady in society. In the place she wanted to be was, instead, her twin brother, Thom, who would drive his teachers to Chaos and back again with his overwhelming interest in sorcery and lack of the slightest _curiosity_ in the fighting arts. She didn't understand. Why was she here?

_I'll tell you why_, she growled to herself. _Your father is screwed, that's why. If he hadn't bloody overheard us! I would be a_ knight _in eight years, not some old, brainwashed, married_ lady. _Gods curse him, I _hate _that man._

"Alanna! Hurry up!" Maude, Alanna's guardian, called from the courtyard ahead of her.

Alanna sighed, and trotted forward, past the Daughter Doorwarden who allowed them inside the high, confining walls around the convent. She paused again, and glanced behind her at the setting sun just now sinking into the mountain peaks that formed the horizon.

And then the iron gates slammed shut.

---

A half an hour later, Alanna and Maude stood alone in one of the convent's many parlors, both waiting for the other to say the first good-bye. Maude was leaving and taking Alanna's pony with her—the convent provided horses for its students—and therefore leaving her all by herself.

"I'm sorry," Maude murmured, clearly heavyhearted at their situation. She knew how much becoming a knight had meant to Alanna.

Alanna glanced up from the ground, startled at the unexpected apology. When she saw the old woman's pitying gaze, though, she felt her eyes burn and throat catch. Angrily and without a thought for the First Daughter who stood just outside the door, she cried, "What in Mithros' name am I _doing_ here? Everything would have worked out _fine_! Thom would come here and become a great sorcerer, and _I _would go to the _palace_ to become the first woman knight in a century. But oh _no_, that wouldn't do at all! Father would never go for something reasonable in this country, even if he _weren't_ scared of us—"

Maude reached out to the ranting ten-year-old. "Alanna, stop! The gods—"

"Them!" she shrieked, stepping back out of reach. "Yes, let's talk about _the gods_, the _freaks_! Always playing with mortals' emotions, always treating us like pigs, always making us suffer for _their_ amusement, aren't they? Well, I'm sick of it! I _refuse_ to be tossed about simply because _they_ want to have some fun!"

"Alanna—"

"Don't you 'Alanna' me! You helped! Where were you when father made servants keep a double eye on us, hm? You helped! You made _sure _that our plan wouldn't work. And you let Coram teach me to fight, and you brought me here, and you—" And then she burst into tears, and had to stop.

Maude closed her eyes to accept the tantrum, but then opened them again a moment later and replied firmly, "They didn't."

"They did!" Alanna shrieked, still crying. "They did, they did, they did, they did—"

"They didn't."

The woman was firm and quiet—too firm and too quiet, Alanna decided, to protest. So she simply glared furiously with eyes that consistently shed warm tears, and waited.

"The night your father caught you and your brother, I Saw something."

"But you're not allowed—"

"I know!" Maude snapped, looking terrified at the memory. Then she took a deep breath and repeated more gently, "I know. I didn't do it on purpose; I don't know how it happened. I was just looking into the fire and... I Saw. I Saw so many things—the majority of which I didn't understand, of course. I know this much, though: the gods never intended for you to come here. Your father's move that afternoon was an unexpected and displeasing surprise. The gods wanted me to tell you something."

"This can't be good."

"First, they wanted me to tell you that your father will be punished. Second, you are a Healer. Learn to use your Gift. Things will happen where… where you'll have to be able to use it, I think. Third, things will happen to Thom: he will cause problems. More problems, even, than if your plan had worked. Fourth, very little will change—they hope—even though your plan did not carry through the way you wanted it to. Fifth, don't be afraid. Just wait."

Maude paused, and glanced out the window. "It's getting late. I should go. But I want to tell you, you should use whatever you have to your advantage. The gods only know—your lessons may come in handy in the future. Perhaps spying? Think of a simple, harmless lady dancing… and yet she has deadly sharp knives and delicate bottles of poison hidden among her swishing skirts.

"I shouldn't be saying this, of course—putting ideas in your head." The woman shook her head, and smiled. "I'll keep in touch, to see how things are going. But I need to go if I'm going to get anywhere tonight. Good-bye, Alanna." Maude turned and strode to the door.

Alanna blinked, not truly acknowledging the last few words. She found herself unable to think straight, with Maude's advice ringing in her ears as if she were repeating it over and over and over again. _The gods never intended for you to come here... You are a Healer... Thom: he will cause problems... Very little will change... Don't be afraid... Perhaps spying?... Good-bye, Alanna—_

Then it clicked. Alanna jumped slightly as she surfaced reality. Thirty-year-old fingers were turning a doorknob, their owner preparing to depart.

"Maude?"

The woman half turned to show she was listening.

"Thank you."

Maude nodded, smiling slightly, and opened the parlor door. And then she was gone, and Alanna suddenly felt very alone.

First Daughter Rinnesia stepped into the room and studied Alanna for a moment. Finally she asked in her usual serene manner, "Are you ready?"

Alanna blinked again. Ready? Ready for what? Ready to become a lady? No, no, she wasn't. Ready to become a lady _spy_? Alanna grinned. "Yes. I'm ready."


	2. First Day

CHAPTER 2: First Day

The next morning, Alanna awoke laggardly to a knock at her door. Her legs ached from the week-long ride from Trebond. Carefully, she touched the pool of her Gift, using a slight droplet on her thighs. She would hate to lose control of as sneaky a thing as magic, and therefore used as little as possible. In seconds, the pain had vanished. With a depressed moan, she stumbled over to open the door, too tired to care how rude her irritable glower, frizzy hair, and crumpled nightgown looked.

A tall girl with brown hair and eyes curtsied politely in the hallway. "Good morning. I'm Rowanna—Rowanna of Disart. I trust you slept well?"

_Great_, Alanna thought crossly, _I'm stuck with an etiquette-obsessed freak._ "No," she replied flatly.

"That's what it's usually like the first couple of nights. I got used to it. Are you hungry? Breakfast is downstairs—"

"No, I'm not hungry."

"Well, at least come down to the dining room with me. The girls are _dying_ to see you—"

"Looking like this? You must be crazy."

"Hmm." Rowanna paused thoughtfully, thinking as she inspected her. Then she nodded. "Here, let me help you. I suggest washing your face and getting dressed. _I_'ll do your hair."

Alanna stared at her, wide-eyed. "That's really not needed—"

"No, no, _really_, I _insist_. We have to hurry so we're not late. Come on." And with that, she hustled a shocked Alanna back into her room.

---

Alanna stared at herself in the mirror in horror. She looked like a lady. She didn't look half that bad.

Turning to face Rowanna, who watched her far too calmly, she skirted her eyes to the bed. "Listen. About earlier—I, er—I didn't mean to be so, er, _gruff_. I was tired, is all."

"It's no problem—_really_. I mean, I don't understand it, exactly, but—oh well. You look great."

Alanna opened her mouth to snap that she didn't _want_ to look great, and, on changing her mind, closed it again. This Disart girl acted too quietly for her.

"Are you ready to go downstairs—meet a couple of girls? Make a few friends?"

"I don't need friends."

"Now _that_ is stupid. Of course you need friends. You think you'll survive six years surrounded by strangers?"

"I'm not staying six years."

"Oh, and where might you be going?"

"I'm going to become a spy." The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying. She tensed, waiting for the blow of ridicule and laughter.

Rowanna thought this over for a moment, and then commented, "You mean, like a warrior in disguise?"

Alanna jumped, startled. "Yeah? What if that's what I mean?"

"Do you know how to act in that disguise?"

Alanna frowned, taken aback by the tranquil reply. "That's easy. Simply giggle a lot and talk about marriage and fashion. Combine that with fluttering my eyelashes at the guys, and I'm good."

Rowanna raised her eyebrows and opened the door to the hallway. "Have you heard me giggle or even _slightly_ mention marriage or fashion this morning?"

Alanna stared at her as they left the room. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't heard her comment on children or her heart's deepest crushes either.

"Fashion and marriage don't sum up being a lady, Alanna. There're also manners. Do you know how to curtsy, play an instrument, or sing? _Do_ you know anything about fashion or marriage?"

Alanna blushed and shook her head. "No, but it can't be that hard to talk about, can it?"

Rowanna shook her head. "Let's just say you have a lot to learn." They arrived at two giant doors, and she swung one open. "Time for breakfast."

The meal sped by, starting with introductions to Rowanna's friends, second-year Jessica of Mirsin and first-year Cythera of Elden, and ending with a dash to Rowanna's room to grab her books before classes began.

The classrooms were all located in one big corridor. The youngest sorcerers- and priests-in-training and ladies used these while fourth-years and above studied in the cloisters or elsewhere in the convent, if they didn't have an arranged governess to spend their last three years with.

The first two classes were Tortallan, where Alanna would perfect her speech and literacy, and math; she left them staggering under humungous textbooks for hours of homework that night.

"I'm dead," she announced, carelessly dropping the volumes on a bench in the hallway. "I already have a year's worth of work to do, and I'm supposed to finish it all plus more for tomorrow."

"That's okay," Cythera assured her. "No one expects anyone to keep up. If you do, you're a goddess."

"But when exactly am I expected to _do_ this?" she demanded.

"My cousin calls it free time," Rowanna answered. "He says that, at the palace—"

"You mean he's studying to become a knight?" Alanna interrupted eagerly.

"That's right. He's a fourth-year page."

_Would I have met him_, Alanna wondered suddenly, _if I had gone to the palace? Would we have been friends like Rowanna and me? Will _Thom _meet him and like him?_ She noted to remember the name so she could question her brother about him later on.

The next class was one Alanna fancied skipping.

"The class where the Gifted learn to use their Gift, the Sighted to See, the Healers to Heal, and the rest of us _normal_ people to meditate and about theory and history. Taught by Daughter Marinstha, who just arrived three weeks ago. Do everything she says, and do _not_ go all cheeky on her. I swear, the woman could be a Master if she wished it. Unfortunately, she doesn't wish it," Rowanna sighed.

"Why unfortunately?" Alanna asked curiously.

"Because if she _did_, then she could go away and study and we'd get a new teacher. Do you have the Gift?"

"Yes, but I don't like to use it."

Rowanna snorted. "Good luck getting that one past Marinstha. Give her the _slightest_ reason to watch you, and she'll hound you like a gods-cursed terrier."

Just then, the Daughter stood up from her desk. The room silenced instantly and everyone was seated at their desks in a matter of seconds.

Daughter Marinstha took one look at Alanna and handed her a thick, musty book. "Maude told me about your Gift-class antics," she told her coolly, stern blue eyes locked with Alanna's own. "They'll stop at once. The book will be read by the end of the week. You may begin now."

The first chapter was about _control_. It was pleasantly appealing. Before, Alanna had hated using her Gift in fear of losing control, but this book said she was more likely to lose control if she _didn't_ use it!

Afterwards, they headed for deportment, where Alanna's stomach churned in dread. This was where she learned to be a boy-hunting babbler, a disgrace to the human race.

She spent the next hour being proven wrong. The lesson went briskly, like its teacher. Everything seemed to be planned out perfectly. After an hour-long lecture on good posture and how she could become crippled if she didn't use it and what people would think of her if she did, she left the class confused.

"You were expecting frills and giggles again, weren't you? You were expecting to be taught to gossip," Rowanna sighed.

Alanna frowned, and then nodded. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Listen, Alanna, being a lady is not half that bad. I mean, true, many of us could not take down an attacking wolf, but that doesn't mean that we don't have a whole brain between us."

"But ladies have to be prim and dainty, and can't speak our minds or do anything fun like jousting—and, really, Rowanna, it's just so much more fun to be a _knight—_"

Rowanna froze. "Wait, wait, wait—what's this knight thing? _I_ thought you wanted to become a _spy_!"

Alanna groaned. _Why_ did she have to let her tongue slip? "Come on. Let's go drop off our stuff and go to lunch. I'll explain."

"You had better. You're too confusing not to be explained."

"Okay. So my mother dies giving birth to Thom and me. My father is too rolled up in his scrolls to allow any time for us, so we're handed off to Maude, the village healer, and Coram, a long-time family servant. Well, Coram has to teach Thom the basics of the fighting arts, and _he_ says that to teach one twin is to teach the other, so, then, obviously, he has to teach me, too. Well, I turn out to be a really good student, unlike Thom. Thom wanted—wants_—_to become a sorcerer. Becoming a lady was the last thing on my list of to-dos, so we decided to switch places: he'd come here to study magic, and I'd go to the palace to become a knight. Well, my father overheard us, and we couldn't go through with it."

"It never would have worked, Alanna—you're a girl. Girls aren't allowed to become knights. Girls are naturally weaker than boys."

"How would you know? Have you ever seen a girl with the same training as a boy?"

"But we can't go off to war. We need to be here to, er... _repopulate_ our country if something bad happens."

"I'm not going to do any 'repopulation'! I don't want to marry or have children or be reduced to a lady's duties! Women are just as good as men and should have just as much freedom as they do."

"We _do—_"

"Tell me, Rowanna: have you ever tried wearing breeches?"

Rowanna's jaw dropped. "_Me_? Are you _joking_? Of _course_ not, I'm a _lady_!"

"Well I have, and they offer a thousand times more freedom than these skirts."

Rowanna gaped at her younger friend, and then asked slowly, "What would be the point, besides showing you're equal to men, of learning to fight? We're not battling anyone right now."

"Just because we're not in war _now_ doesn't mean we'll _never_ be," Alanna answered evenly. "An extra warrior can always make a difference on the battlefront. Why do you think _men_ become knights? So they can laze about with honor? No, it's so they can be there and _know_ they would be of help if there's trouble."

"Okay, then, what else?"

"Defense."

"Defense from what? We're nobles, Alanna—we're rich enough to hire guards."

"Do you want a bodyguard following you every single place you go? What if you're alone with your bodyguard and he turns on you? Or he gets killed? Then what will you do? Wild animals and rapists don't respond as well as you'd like to begging, Rowanna. And what if you see someone else being hurt? Will you just stand there and let it happen? Scream, perhaps? Run away, cry, _faint_? You certainly can't _help_ the person because you don't know how. Wouldn't it be great if you could—even if it were just _once—_stand up to someone and _know_ that you are physically able to beat him if he attacks you, instead of standing there _helplessly_?"

Rowanna blinked and frowned. "This is crazy. I've never heard anything like this. My mother and aunts and cousins—just think of what they would say! Think of what Grandmother Sebila, who's been listing marriageable men off for me since before I was born, would say!" Suddenly, she grinned. "Alright, I'm with you!"

Alanna blinked. "Come again?"

"Well, didn't you say you were going to be heroic? I'm going to be heroic too—with you."

"And how do you plan to pull off that one?"

Rowanna bit her lip shyly. "You have to hear me through this, okay? It _can_ work, I swear. Even if it takes a lot of work. What we have to do is talk to the Daughter of the Crooked God. She goes to town a lot to talk with all the thieves—you know, because the Crooked God is the patron of thieves—so she knows them. She could get us hooked up with some teachers, since thieves are great fighters."

Alanna stared at her. "You're crazier than I am."

"It can work, Alanna, I promise! Come on, _please_? You got me into this in the first place. Now I'm all excited."

Alanna rubbed her head. "I don't know…."

"All it will take is for us to be on our best behavior and get granted some free time. That means that I have to get caught up with my homework and you need to stay caught up, and then we'll be rewarded."

"That's going to take a lot of work."

"All it's going to take is working every chance we have. We can work during mealtimes, because we often have so much spare time between servings, and that's great, because a quick break every now and then makes studying easier. And we'll have to work late into the night, which is kind of against the rules, but no one has to find out."

"I'm not impressed."

Rowanna sighed dramatically. "Well, I guess if you want to grow up to be some random, silly lady…."

"Fine!" Alanna cried, the gross image of a giggling girl dancing at a ball causing her stomach to churn. She took a deep breath, and let it out definitively. "Let's do this."


	3. Permission

CHAPTER 3: Permission

_Goddesses._

First Daughter Rinnesia groaned and wished she had never, ever felt a calling to become a Daughter of the Goddess. She was now dedicated to a woman obsessed with things that mortals did not believe in. For instance, female warriors, though Rinnesia hadn't the slightest clue why. For almost one and a half months, now, the Mother had appeared in her dreams and reported, "The time has come for women to take a stand. Today, there is someone out there who will change everything. Be waiting for her." As if the _idea_ of "women taking a stand" wasn't terrifying enough, now she had to _participate_ and "wait for her." Wait for _who_, for the Goddess' sake? Here she was, running a convent and waiting for some girl to come change the world—was the Mother _mad_?

Rinnesia slammed her fist down on her desk in annoyance, and then winced in realizing she had narrowly missed smashing her porcelain teacup. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly.

"Whenever you're doing something that doesn't seem to be working, stop doing it," she reminded herself aloud, quoting a proverb of the Old Ones. It was one of her favorite sayings. It did not contradict the modern precept "try, try again," but instead simply recommended a break. On the other hand, it did not _order_ her to continue her difficult task later on. She could always just _stop_ worrying and never start up again.

Taking the advice to heart, she decided to forget about it. What came would come, no matter what she did. Instead, she took a sip of tea and excavated from her pile of papers a list of to-dos she had written up that morning. Skimming it for starred subjects, which signified urgent matters, her eyes stopped three-quarters of the way down at the words _Trebond and Disart_. She smiled. They had to be her two favorite students in the convent, with their perfect comportment in classes. They both did everything impeccably. What was more, one of the Daughters had reported seeing them in the library pouring over books that had curiously come from the section on _foreign languages_. And although she knew it was as good as treason to say it, Rinnesia took heart in knowing that "women taking a stand" would not—could not—start with these two excellent young ladies. Nothing _else_ troublesome ever did!

Like she did with every lady of their status, the Daughter made plans to reward them. Standing from her chair, she turned to look out the bay window behind her. From there she could see the sundial that stood in the middle of the courtyard: it read just after five in the afternoon. Perfect. In ten minutes, the last class of the day would be finished. The ladies would have ten minutes to wash up after the lesson, and then she would call for Alanna of Trebond and Rowanna of Disart.

---

They had arrived promptly and perfectly, without giggling, whispering or showing the least disrespect. They were both dressed appropriately in the convent's uniform, their hair pinned up in the latest fashion. They stood with their hands clutched behind their backs and heads held high—the "at-attention" stance. There was Alanna, the upbeat first-year with her fiery copper curls and strange purple eyes, and there was Rowanna, the silver-tongued third-year with her smooth brown locks and tenacious brown eyes. Though they seemed the perfect friends, they differed so greatly: the younger so small, the older so tall.

The First Daughter smiled. They had learned so much. "Please be seated," she invited, motioning to the two chairs before her desk.

They curtsied with murmured thanks and obeyed, spreading their skirts carefully so as not to crease them.

"You have both been putting an excellent amount of effort into your classes lately," she informed them regally. "All of your instructors speak highly of you, and your assignments are always turned in completed and on time. Your work is very much appreciated, and I'm sure our country will benefit gratefully from the both of you. In way of thanks, tomorrow, you may both spend the entire afternoon in town."

What an honor. The convent was very strict about flaunting its half-trained ladies around in public without a reasonable excuse, so to be given permission to step beyond the walls surrounding the convent was a dream for many ladies.

Because of this, Lady Rowanna's response came as somewhat of a shock.

"Refuse?" Rinnesia demanded. "Why?"

"Because, we would like to make a request in its place."

The woman didn't respond, but her expression told Rowanna to continue.

"Lady Alanna and I…," she hesitated, and then continued boldly, "Lady Alanna and I wish to be trained in the martial arts."

The First Daughter's blood ran cold. Suddenly she realized she had completely misunderstood the meaning of the girls' efforts. "Oh," she replied faintly. "Oh I see." Rinnesia closed her eyes. How could she not have foreseen something like this? She had watched Alanna ride into the convent without a sidesaddle, glimpsed her hysterical conversation with Maude just after their entrance, and she _had_ arrived a month ago, just after the Goddess' dream messages had started. Suddenly the First Daughter found herself in a horrifying position. Either she denied the girls their wish, therefore disobeying the Mother, or she let them go through with their idea and risked setting Chaos loose into the country. A vile taste filled her mouth, and she swallowed shakily. She either neglected her role as a Daughter of the Goddess, or she slighted her position as the First Daughter of the convent.

She rubbed her temples for a moment, and asked tremulously, "When and where would you learn? Who would teach you?"

"The time is the simplest of matters. The class would begin at five o'clock in the morning and end at six. That would give us a half an hour to wash up before breakfast. Lessons could be held out in the guards' training yards, with their permission. The teacher…." Rowanna licked her lips skeptically and continued a bit more slowly, "The teacher poses more of a problem. We know that there are many commoners out there with amazing skills, and we were wondering if we could, perhaps, enlist the help of the Crooked God-Daughter, because she is on friendly terms with them and might be able to find an instructor for us."

"Ah!" Rinnesia crooked her finger at them, her voice made light with relief. She had found a problem in their plan. "You mean a thief. Not likely. A well thought-out idea, but not likely. Thieves are dangerous and not to be trusted. They'd spend that hour manhandling you more than teaching you. I cannot allow that, and your parents would never agree."

Rowanna and Alanna both looked startled and, this time, Rinnesia caught on straight away to what they were thinking.

"Parental permission is one of the more necessary parts of this plan," she said gently. "Not telling them is out of the question."

"But my lady…."

Rinnesia jumped slightly when she heard this response from Alanna. The girl had hardly murmured a word since their arrival.

"Yes, Trebond?"

"My lady, my father would _never_ agree to such a thing," Alanna told her helplessly. "He's a conservative to the bone—my house is as blue-blooded as Naxen, in the Book of Gold and everything! He'd throw a raging fit—_if _he reads the letter at all."

"It's the same with my family, my lady, though _my_ father will most surely read the letter. _But_," Rowanna continued immediately, "is it mandatory to tell our parents _everything_? Perhaps we could omit a few details and ask for permission to add a new class to our inventories, without specifying the class."

_Thank you, Mother: you gave them the minds of Uusoae_, Rinnesia thought irritably before pointing out, "Your parents would be expecting you to learn a new subject, though. Are you just going to shower them with punches and kicks the next time you see them and thank them profoundly for letting you do such a thing?"

"My father would deserve it," Alanna said dryly. Suddenly, she gasped. "I have it! Rowanna and I are currently studying Carthaki—that could be our class!"

"Oh, so _that_'s what you're doing in the library! The Daughters and I were most curious about that."

"Yes, yes, Carthaki," Rowanna agreed excitedly. "And we could make our instructor swear not to 'manhandle' us. Even commoners obey oaths."

Rinnesia stared from one eager girl to the other. She hated to admit it, but their undying zest was stirring up an adventurous feeling within her as well. Why shouldn't their plan work? Their parents never had to find out anything. She bit her lip, and then grinned. "You ladies are the queerest I've ever met, and I don't know why I'm going to say this, but I will: if you write the letters, I'll proofread and sign them."

"Really?" Alanna whispered, her eyes glowing with hope.

"I swear it. Now, off with you! It would be a terrible thing if you didn't manage to finish your assignments for tomorrow, right after this conversation!"

"Yes, First Daughter Rinnesia," they chorused, hopping to their feet and curtsying politely, though it was obvious by the light skip in their steps as they walked out the door that they were having trouble concealing their excitement. The moment the door shut, Rinnesia heard them both burst into shrieks of ecstatic laughter, congratulating one another as they hurried off to their rooms.

The woman shook her head, smiling. She had to be breaking a number of laws in doing this, but, for some reason, she felt no regret.

---

One day that June, Daughter Marinstha held Rowanna and Alanna back in class. They exchanged glances, biting their lips. Marinstha was the Daughter of the Crooked God. Perhaps she had an update on their fighting classes.

Indeed, as soon as the last of the other students had filed out of the classroom, she announced, "First Daughter Rinnesia said to tell you she received your families' responses and they both expect you two to be fluent in Carthaki when you next meet them. She also told me of your interesting request. Girls, you have to understand: commoners are not _all_ like Shang masters. Of those that are—I mean to say, of those that would make adequate instructors—many of them don't _want_ to teach. They are professionals that have no wish whatsoever to publicize their secrets. This is an extremely difficult task that you have asked me to carry out. Are you _positive_ you want to do this?" she demanded, catching the eye of first one girl, then the other.

Rowanna and Alanna did not need to glance at each other to know what they wanted. They had sworn long ago that they would do whatever necessary to acquire a teacher.

Daughter Marinstha nodded coolly. "Very well. I'll alert you when I have news. You're dismissed."

The two girls thanked her, curtsied, and left. Although they knew they had to run for their next class, they did not speed up once out of sight of Daughter Marinstha.

"Rowanna?" Alanna asked slowly.

"Yes?"

"What are you in this for? My father couldn't care less about what I do, but your family—your family loves you."

Rowanna smiled sadly down at her. "It's simpler than it looks, Alanna. Like you, I've watched boys goof off all my life—just, unlike you, I've had women there to keep me from doing the same. You've just kind of been an unleashing of the bad, true me. What's more, the day before you arrived, I received a letter from Grandmother Sebila. She—I—Alanna, you know Ralon of Malven, the boy my cousin Raoul writes to me about, the one he hates so much?"

Alanna nodded—just listening to Rowanna's letters made her want to punch the disparaging bully's face in—and wondered what this was leading to.

"Well, I—my grandmother—well, she wrote to me to say that… that…."

"That?" Alanna probed curiously.

"Alanna, I'm betrothed."

Alanna froze and glanced up at her friend. To her shock, a tear slipped down the older girl's cheek.

"All I want to do is have a little fun before—before—" Rowanna's voice broke off, and Alanna knew she couldn't continue.

Hesitantly and carefully, as she had never comforted another girl before, Alanna laid a tender hand on her friend's back. Rowanna turned and buried her face in Alanna's shoulder, sobbing furiously.


	4. Training

CHAPTER 4: Training

Alanna felt a shiver of excitement ripple down her spine as she and Rowanna slid through the side door of the stone wall separating the convent's courtyard from the training yard. Usually only the women studying to work for a Temple of the Great Mother Goddess or a Moon of Truth Temple could use this particular passage, but Daughter Marinstha had directed them through it the afternoon before to reach the combat ring nearest to the convent. At the same time, she had given them the proper outfits for warriors-in-training, which they had donned that morning: breeches, shirts, boots and—in Rowanna's case, as Alanna didn't need one yet—a breastband, since corsets didn't allow enough flexibility. So here they were, stealing along the wet grass like thieves at work, with Alanna's Gift offering the only light in the cold darkness of the Grimhold Mountains' early July morning, as the town clock struck the morning's fifth hour.

"It's about time you two made it," a clear, light voice remarked cheerily from somewhere to their right.

Rowanna and Alanna froze, and Alanna raised her hand and illuminated more of their surroundings. Just yards away, a young blond sat casually on the fence of the combat ring. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail and lanky body making him almost attractive. He nimbly hopped off the fence and sauntered towards them.

"Hey. Name's Kev. Kevin Lark," he greeted congenially, offering them his balled fist.

Alanna stared at the hand, baffled. He held it out as if it made sense, but she had no idea what to do with it. Was he physically impaired so he couldn't open his hand all of the way, or was he just being stupid so he could see what their reactions would be? She glanced at Rowanna for help, but her friend was as lost as she was.

"Oh. You guys don't...," his voice trailed off as he motioned to his outstretched arm. Clearing his throat, he grabbed Alanna's free hand and closed her fingers towards her palm, forming a ball. Then he tapped it lightly first on the top of his fist, then on the bottom, and last straight on its front. "Top, bottom—or bottom, top, whichever—and face-to-face, we say. It's the way we commoners shake hands. We call it chucking. This way we don't need to feel the other person's sweaty hand, it's faster, you can do two people at a time, and it doesn't run the risk of having rings or bracelets stolen. Cool, right?"

The two girls blinked blankly, and then, as if just realizing he had finished speaking that weird language of his, nodded hurriedly. "Oh, yes—exactly. Very cool. Of course."

He smiled and stepped back to look the two of them over. "I see Jarinth got you reasonably clothed and everything—good, very good. You must be Alanna—she mentioned you having the Gift. Why don't you light the torches around the ring here? They're hooked to the fence. Great—thanks. And you must be Rowanna—the third-year. We'll have to hurry if you're going to learn anything, because I heard your governess's coming for you as soon as the snow allows this spring, right? Right. Alright then—into the ring. We're going to start with exercises, and I'll let you in on what I'm thinking at the same time."

Alanna and Rowanna obeyed quickly. Now that they had traded Alanna's Gift for torchlight, they could make out two rather large piles of rocks on the far side of the ring. Before the girls could so much as imagine their use, though, Kevin had dropped down to the ground and motioned for them to follow suit.

Bending his right knee back so his foot was behind him, he stretched his left leg forward and then easily reached down to grab it with both of his hands. "Alright. If you don't get that, it's okay. Just keep trying and it'll come sooner or later. Try not to kill yourself at the same time, though, Alanna—I'll get blamed."

For the next quarter of an hour, leading them through all sorts of stretches the whole time, Kevin went on to explain his plans. They would spend the first couple of months building up their muscles, each week dedicated to a new lesson. This particular week they'd spend on their arms. Once he felt them ready, they would move on to more difficult things. They'd work until they dropped, and longer. Any complaints, and their work would be doubled.

"Now," he said, hopping back onto the fence. "I'm going to tell you a story—no, don't look at me like that, Alanna. You'll like this story." He clasped his hands daintily in his lap and began, "Once upon a time. There lived an ogre. This ogre was a mean, old ogre who nobody and nothing loved and loved nobody and only one thing: his rocks." Alanna stole a suspicious glance at the twin piles of rocks behind her. "Now, there were these two boys, Rowan and Alan. They were two city lads who fancied becoming great and almighty heroes and who would stare Uusoae, the Queen of Chaos, in the eye if only to fulfill their dream. Well, they knew this ogre, who terrorized their village and ate their sheep, was a heartless, nasty creature as awful as Uusoae herself, and decided to take him on.

"There was a number of things they had to do to weaken this ogre so they could kill him. The first was to steal his beloved rocks. These rocks were kept in his private chamber and the only time it was possibly possible to get them was when he was fast asleep. But this ogre only slept fifteen minutes at a time! Rowan and Alan had to drag each and every _pebble_ out of that room and down to their village in a quarter of an hour. And they couldn't use any magic, or the ogre would wake up and see them, which meant they would have to move all the rocks back and be punished, if not eaten." He paused, and bit his lip. "Oh, but this isn't any fun without actors. I'm _terrible_ at visualizing things. Rowanna, Alanna—show me how Rowan and Alan worked. The village is right behind me, and there is a wall right in front of me that you can't pass. You'll have to go around."

The girls gaped at him, and then at the piles of rocks behind them, and then back at their teacher.

"You must be _crazy_!" Alanna gasped.

"Must I be?" he asked pleasantly.

"But those rocks are _huge_!"

"Only five pounds each."

"And there's, like, a _million_ of them!"

"Actually, only twenty-five per pile."

"But it's _impossible_!"

"Hardly. Oh yes, and—the ogre just went to sleep."

When the ogre awoke fifteen minutes later, he was most enraged to find his rocks gone and two harassed lads about to drop dead right outside his door. Furious at their attempt to snitch his precious stones, he ordered them to be returned and sentenced the boys to ten pumps—a torturous exercise where they had to lie flat on their stomachs and push themselves up on their arms and then lower themselves back down until their noses touched the dirt and arms formed right angles at the elbows. Giving orders was such hard work, though, that he was suddenly very sleepy. Using his ogre-magic, he forced them to run around the outer edge of the combat ring five times and settled down on his bed so he could watch them in comfort. By the time they finished, he was fast asleep, and they were about to begin sneaking his rocks out again when the town bell struck the sixth hour.

Only just remembering to thank Kevin, the girls stumbled wearily back to the convent where a maid, to their delight, had warm baths waiting for them both. They felt they had never experienced anything as beautiful as slumber as they collapsed into their beds later that night, though it was as if their maids had barely allowed them a moment of rest before shaking them gently awake the next morning.

The following couple of months passed quickly enough. After developing their arms, they ran for a week, then concentrated on working with their flexibility, and finished by establishing an awareness of their every surrounding. Then they returned to their arms. Their only assignments were to squeeze the stress balls they received from Kevin and to stretch at each available moment. It was not very long before they could feel their bodies begin to strengthen. They came to find themselves capable of performing feats that other students couldn't, like achieving perfect balance on a frisky horse (an _extremely_ difficult task when riding sidesaddle) and knowing exactly when one of the boys was about to pull off one of their usual dirty tricks on them. They got used to waking up early and, with profound thanks, dismissed the maids' help. Though they ached considerably day in and day out, they were generally pleased with the work they accomplished.

Autumn arrived, and, with it, mountain blizzards. It was when they moved to the indoor training yards that their routine changed.

"Okay, are we all here?" Kevin demanded obnoxiously—boisterousness seemed to be one of his key characteristics—over the howl of the wind outside. "One, two—yes, we all made it. Good. Now, today we're going to start something new. It's called _murdering pride_." Both he and Rowanna glanced at Alanna, who looked innocently in the other direction. "It has to do with learning that you will _always_ be the one that gets butchered by the big bullies, you will _always_ be the one that falls off the cliff, you will _always_ be the one that has the bit-resistant horse, you will _always_ be the one that's the stupidest, laziest, most idiotic in your group—which will _always_ be made of people you detest, because you're friendless, and nobody cares—and there is _nothing you can do about it_." He glanced down at his students, who had both fixed him with contemptuous expressions complete with raised eyebrows, and grinned. It seemed only yesterday that they were those two gullible kittens who would have clung to his every word. "Until now. Because now, we are going to learn how to whip the blockheads who really _do_ believe such things into a place where they can learn better. We're going to add bruises to those straining muscles of yours." He strode over to a nearby door, which opened to a closet, and pulled out two sticks. He handed one to Rowanna, and then one to Alanna. They were staffs. "We're going to start fighting."

Two weeks later, Kevin opened the closet door and pulled out two sticks. He gave one to Rowanna, and then one to Alanna. They were not staffs. "Ah, the glory of fencing. It's a couple hundred steps up from staffing, but you guys are good enough with the big, fat sticks that you can go on to these." They were swords.

Winter came. The convent ladies were allowed to go down to town for their holiday shopping and then spent the week of Midwinter celebrating as it would be done at Court. Rowanna got word from one of the few letters Raoul managed to send her of a small epidemic that hit Corus in March. It would not have been worthy of mention had Raoul himself not caught a slight whiff of it, laying him in bed for a good two weeks. Winter went.

The snow, though, stayed, much to Alanna's relief. Although she loathed the cold like a cat did water, she would hate it even more when Rowanna left with her governess that spring, a time that grew nearer with every passing minute. It was hard to imagine, but once she moved out, they would probably not see each other again until the _Disart_ part of Rowanna's name had disappeared. They hadn't spoken of her betrothal since that afternoon at least six months back, but that didn't keep it from hanging over them like a stormcloud laden with apprehension.

Kevin also seemed rather strained with their time constraint. His attempts to rush them through a great number of lessons in very little time were obviously failing. He spent a whole month on fencing and then introduced them to wrestling, which took longer than he truly wanted because they—Alanna, especially—didn't seem to possess the required spark for hand-to-hand combat. Because of this, he ushered them on to archery as soon as they mastered the basics, and then circled back to fencing, just to find they had forgotten half of what they had learned about that. And they only had one month until the pass was expected to clear.

"We're all going to _die_!" he finally wailed after a rather deplorable match between Alanna and Rowanna, which mainly consisted of them swishing their practice swords around in the air at each other and then, the one time their sticks did come in contact, they yelped at the sudden collision and dropped their weapons.

"_Sorry_," Rowanna groaned. "I'm just not getting this. What are we doing again?"

Alanna patted their new friend on the back consolingly. "Rowa's right. This just isn't sticking like the other lessons. I guess the memory comes with the pain."

"_I_'m hurt," Kevin pointed out. "I feel just plain crummy that I can't pound this into your thick heads."

Alanna shook her head. "No good, sorry. We need real pain. Bruises, you know?"

"Alanna!" Rowanna hissed through clenched teeth. "Shut up! You'll give him ideas! And this is bad enough as it is!"

Suddenly, Kevin grinned wickedly at them. "Pain? I can give you pain. Let's go back to wrestling, and I'll have plenty of pain ready for you tomorrow." Ignoring the glare Rowanna drilled into his back, he snatched Alanna's arms and pinned them behind her. "But those bruises can come right now."

Alanna slammed her heel into his foot in response.

The next morning, the girls arrived early to their lesson, eager to see what Kevin had planned for them. Innocently—too innocently—he handed them their usual practice swords. They accepted them enthusiastically—and dropped them.

"Weighted," he announced proudly, pretending not to notice their glowers. "I thought of it all by myself."

"Really," Alanna gasped, hefting her sword back up; sweat was already forming above her brow. "I congratulate you on your creativity, you son of a—"

"Now, now, my dearest Alanna, _that's_ not very appropriate. You should be nicer to men or you'll never survive in life."

With an amazing burst of strength, Alanna swung her stick up at her friend. He stepped back, and the metal clanged back to the ground.

He laughed. "Alright then, ladies, who remembers the _first_ form I taught you?"

"Me!" Alanna cried, lunging forward to strike out at her new target.

Kevin hopped effortlessly to the side. "Exactly. What's the second move?"


	5. Departure

Chapter 5: Departure

BIG NOTE: Ahem. Because of time constraints, I'm going to have to admit defeat to the many cultural differences that plague our poor and abused world and confess that I know nothing of the languages spoken in ancient Carthage or Scandinavia (which are the foundations of Carthak and Scanra). _Therefore_, unless someone feels the need to shriek at me for my lack of creativity, I'm going to let Carthaki equal Spanish and Scanran equal French (those are the only two foreign languages I even slightly know). _Usually_ the language will be translated to or hinted at in English in the story itself, but, when it's _not_, there will be a little asterisk leading to a footnote. This does not mean, mind you, that I will suddenly hurl a red cloth at some helpless Carthaki citizen and dump him into a big ring with a raging bull. The normal traditions and hairdos will all stay the same; don't worry.

* * *

Alanna glanced up as Rowanna strode towards her in the library. "Where were you?" Alanna demanded. "I could have sworn you were right behind me when I came here after dinner, and then I looked and you weren't there."

Rowanna shrugged and flopped into a chair. "Rinnesia wanted to talk to me."

Alanna immediately forgot about scolding her friend and leaned forward intently. "And?"

"The Countess of King's Reach will be here for me in a week. Maids have already begun packing my bags."

Alanna could not think of anything to say and sufficed with "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh.' I hadn't thought it would be so soon. I guess I should have known: there are signs _everywhere_. More letters coming in, mud seeping out of our ears, mid-April, Catherine of Senishelle leaving last week. Rather obvious. But it'll be so _different_. I wonder what the Countess will think when I wake up at four-thirty in the morning. Do you think it would be inappropriate to wear my breeches and stretch when I'm in my room? I'd be alone, sure, but what if someone walked in on me? I'm going to ask Kevin if I can take that sword and the exercise balls with me, so I can stay in shape. Do you think there will be someone there who can teach me more Carthaki? I'd hate to get as far as I am now just to stop. Do you think I'll mess up a lot? I hope not. Grandmother Sebila just wrote me a list of things I had to make sure I did when under the Countess' care: be neat, always have combed hair, don't snore, don't fuss, don't argue. I feel as if I'm already dead. And just think, living in the castle of Earl Hamrath! Can you imagine?"

Alanna smiled weakly. Rowanna always prattled on tirelessly about the oddest of things when she was nervous. "I think you'll do great. After all, you _are_ a Disart. And don't worry about messing up. I bet Malven couldn't care less." Alanna bit her tongue—she hadn't intended to bring up the betrothal.

Rowanna shuddered at the mention of her intended. "Gods, _he_ scares me more than everything else put together. What could be worse than marriage to a man who spits his S's?"

Alanna forced herself to giggle. "Think about looking at his crooked teeth _every single day_!"

The two of them laughed and then, as the bell tolled eight o'clock, hurried to begin another hour of Carthaki.

The next morning, Kevin was waiting for them at the outdoor practice court once again.

"I heard you were ditching us for the Countess in a week," he accused Rowanna, his voice falsely cheerful.

She flashed him an evil smile. "Yes. While _I_ enjoy lavendar-scented baths and maids braiding my hair, you _chumps_ will be up here swimming in the mud like the pigs you are."

He winced. "Ooo, it bites."

"Ha!" Alanna cried. "Chump? We'll see who's the _chump_ after I beat you with my sword today."

"Actually, ladies," Kevin informed them, "I have something new planned for today."

Rowanna blanched. "Is it something I'm going to pick up in a week?"

"Maybe. It depends on how hard you try. We're headed to the stables, so back through the wall!"

"Okay, I'm thinking nothing but bad thoughts right now," Alanna muttered to Rowanna. The last way she wanted to improve her upper-body strength was by mucking stalls.

Once at the stables, out of habit, they headed straight for their horses. To their surprise, though, they found something not so normal draped over the stall doors: new tack.

Alanna gasped. "A _regular_ saddle! You're going to teach us to ride?"

"That's right. I'm surprised you recognized it. I didn't know you knew anything at all."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I rode back at Trebond. So there."

When they arrived at the horse ring, they found it lit up by torches and another horse waiting for them.

"Alright, girls, I want to introduce you to my beauty: Rata. It's Carthaki for—"

"Oh, come on! _Rat_ is no name for a charmer like this one," Alanna crooned, reaching over to pat the stallion's neck.

"No—'Lan—" Kevin yanked the halter back just before Alanna lost a limb to the "charmer's" violent teeth. "Ha-ha. Old Rata could pass off as Uusoae herself. His owner was about to butcher him when I came along, so I got him cheap."

Riding was a fun lesson, even with the convent's delicate horses and the bruises it cost. In just a week, they learned how to fall correctly and steer at a walk, trot, canter, and gallop. Rowanna even managed to jump over sticks lying on the ground on her last day.

---

Alanna woke with a start. Blackness enveloped her room—it was still night. Wondering what could have possibly interrupted her sleep, she sat up and reached for the candle on her bedside table. A spark of her Gift made the wick burst into flame. She slid her feet out of bed and into her slippers, shivering as a sudden cold breeze swirled around her bare ankles.

Licking her lips, she stood and investigated the room. Her door was locked, window shut, and curtains drawn. Bats squeaked outside, but she had heard _that_ back at Trebond. They could not have roused her. Her dressing room was empty, as was the wardrobe and the space underneath her bed. She chided herself for needing to satisfy such childish fears but still did not like the strange feeling that made the hairs stand up on her arms. Something was different—wrong, even.

Still quivering from the cold, Alanna donned her robe and reached for the doorknob, thinking to go call on Rowanna. Unannounced meetings in the middle of the night were never unexpected or unwelcome between them.

It was only then that she realized Rowanna had left with the Countess that morning.

Alanna's stomach dropped like a rock. She felt smashed, beaten, and cheated. What did she do now? She had no where to go. Sleep was hardly a choice: she didn't feel the least bit tired now that the cool air had treated every inch of her body. Should she go wake up one of the other girls so she could talk to _someone_, at least? Who? The first and only thought on Jessica's mind would be how such a visit was breaking a number of very strict convent rules, and Cythera was exhausted after studying for the three tests she had the following day and needed all the sleep she could get. Sighing, Alanna stared around her room, wishing that Kevin slept at the convent and not in town.

Restless and too chafed to care if she got caught, she left her room. Perhaps she could go study Carthaki until four-thirty, when she would come get dressed.

The convent had never seemed so big and empty before. Darkness swarmed into every little nook and cranny, leaving no place visible except the small sphere circling her candle. Luckily, she knew her way around well enough not to need much light.

Making sure the large oak door didn't slam shut behind her, she slid as silently as she could into the library. Her candlelight seemed to shrink among all the musty books. Dust cascaded through the air like a snowstorm, flowing through her candle's circle of light and then disappearing into the mysterious darkness beyond. Slowly, she inched down an aisle that led to the foreign language section. The shelves towered over her, glowering down at her tiny ant-like figure. Imaginary and real critters scurried about on the ground. She gulped, and sped up. She did not like the library at night.

"Trebond!"

Alanna jumped a foot in the air and spun around. To her dismay, standing right there at a small round table she had just passed, was Daughter Marinstha. Alanna went cold with dread. Of all the people who had to catch her, it had to be Marinstha, after everything the woman had done for her and Rowanna.

"Trebond," she repeated, more softly this time. She beckoned.

Alanna stepped gingerly forward. She kept her eyes down, staring at the Daughter's table cluttered with hundreds of papers, a number of books shoved to the side, and the odd assortment of quills, ink bottles, two dried plants, and a small pincushion. Feeling rather awkward, she curtsied. "Good evening, Daughter Marinstha."

"Good evening, Trebond," she replied. There was an odd sound to her voice, and Alanna was shocked to find it resembled amusement. "A lovely night for a walk, no?"

"Delightful," she agreed shakily. She did not know how she responded, as her brain had frozen with terror some time ago.

"Sit down," her Gift instructor invited.

Alanna's knees bent; she fell into a chair.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"No, my lady."

"Hmm. Here, then, we can't put a tireless mind like yours to waste. Correct this essay for me, please. It should be easy enough. Though Ashwood's spelling and grammar are atrocious, I think he almost understood what he was writing about this time." She handed Alanna two sheets of parchment, one full of a blotchy scribble and the other blank. "Write your corrections on the blank one," she ordered, pushing a quill and ink bottle towards her.

Bewildered by her teacher's response to her breaking the rules, Alanna mechanically reached for the quill. Just before dipping it into the bottle, though, she set it back down. "Are you going to punish me or not?" she demanded.

Marinstha looked up from a paper she had already returned to correcting, her expression rather surprised. "I am punishing you, am I not?" She nodded to Garien's paper. "Read the first sentence."

Slowly, Alanna obeyed: _mercurie is a dedli theeng._ She blinked. "What's a 'dedli theeng'?" she asked curiously. Then she gasped. "Oh! A 'deadly thing!' He's studying mercury?"

"No. Why would you think that? He's writing about a Yamani emperor mage who tried to become immortal by drinking mercury and arsenic."

"That's disgusting."

"I'm aware of that. Now, get reading, or I _will_ report you to First Daughter Rinnesia."

It took Alanna an entire half hour to correct Garien's ridiculously pathetic composition, which left her yawning widely.

Marinstha glanced first at the paper Alanna had given her and then at her student, and shook her head. "You're dismissed," she responded, smiling slightly.

Alanna stepped away from the table before she curtsied. She had just turned towards the great double doors when Marinstha cleared her throat. "And, Trebond, if you can't manage to sleep tomorrow night, I have papers about two weeks old that need correcting."

Alanna ducked her head to hide her smile. "Yes, my lady."


	6. News

CHAPTER 6: News

As Alanna's second year started, she almost began to enjoy life at the convent. Although an hour of training per day was absurd compared to what the pages did at the palace, it beat learning nothing at all. Kevin became her closest friend after Rowanna left. She joined Cythera and Jessica for the two hours of study hall before dinner and then buried herself alone in the library to study Carthaki. Often, she pampered her pride from Daughter Marinstha's trust in her and returned to the library nightly, reading papers with topics she had never heard of before.

Marinstha turned out to be, to Alanna's surprise, a rather interesting woman. Before becoming a Daughter, she had traveled extensively and knew the most intriguing of stories. She also was fluent in Carthaki and helped rectify Alanna's atrocious accent. The best part, though, was her ability to carry on a conversation for hours and never lose Alanna's attention. She explained matters that Alanna had never understood or had countless questions about, including Alanna's favorite interest of the Old Ones.

Alanna could no longer understand why she had been so scared of her Gift before. The books she read on it and the things Marinstha said never ceased to enthrall her, and she found herself practicing magic that she had sworn many years ago never to touch. When Maude arrived to check on her in mid-August, she was exceedingly pleased and yet unsurprised at her progress.

"Jarinth is hardly the kind of woman you want to—or even _can_, for that matter—mess around with. If she's the instructor and you are the student, you will learn, or else," she remarked. "By the way, I have news from Coram. He wrote to say that Thom is depressing—not at all depressed, as he's enjoying putting up one Chaos-originated fight against picking up a sword, but definitely depressing. He's annoyingly cumbersome and infuriatingly hostile and indifferent about it all. Thank the gods no one blames Coram—Duke Gareth just relates Thom to your father—but he says this is getting terribly out of hand and he requests that you write to your brother and try to talk him around. You're the only one who has ever been able to do that."

"But I've already written to him—five times," Alanna pointed out. "He hasn't responded once."

"Coram says all of your letters are read once and burned. You are continually talking of a certain Disart."

Alanna's eyebrows snapped together. "What's wrong with Rowanna?"

Maude sighed. "Alanna, Thom is an extremely prideful boy—more prideful than you, even. He's rather resentful that your best friend is his enemy's cousin."

"Raoul?" Alanna asked, shocked. "He's not friends with Raoul?"

"Alanna, haven't you been listening? He isn't friends with _anyone_."

---

In September, another break in her routine came from a maid with a messenger in the middle of math class. First Daughter Rinnesia wanted to see her immediately.

"Sit down, Trebond," the First Daughter directed quietly. Alanna obeyed, confused and nervous. The woman's face was extremely pale. She closed her eyes, and then opened them again and said firmly, "I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your brother is gone. He disappeared two weeks ago. His manservant, Coram Smythesson, who was serving his shift as a guardsman that dawn, returned to find Page Thom's things missing, and Thom had not been seen by anyone since the night before. They alerted your father and immediately started a search. They found his body a mile from the gates of Corus on the Great Road. It appears he was taken by bandits."

Alanna sat in her chair, dumbstruck. Thom, dead? No. Impossible. Death was something for people in war, people who were sick, people who were old, people she didn't know. This was her brother. This kind of thing didn't happen to her brother. Thom wouldn't let it—she wouldn't let it. Thom was back at the palace, enraging everyone with his cheeky indifference about his education.

"Duke Gareth, his training master, offers his deepest apologies, sincerest regrets and most heartfelt condolences. The funeral will be held in Corus as soon as possible. You will leave for it tomorrow at dawn. Your martial arts instructor—Kevin Lark—has been alerted. You will not have your class with him."

At first, horror settled on Alanna like a heavy blanket. Then, she frowned, confused. "Are—are you serious?"

Rinnesia bowed her head. "I'm sorry."

Alanna could only stare as the news replayed in her mind. Somehow she almost couldn't believe that this was true. But then why would Rinnesia say it?

Slowly, she stood up and, without waiting to be dismissed, left. Thom was _dead_?

---

Through eavesdroppers and gossipers, news had a way of travelling exceedingly quickly through the convent. Rumors only stepped up a notch when three different maids were spotted in Alanna's room packing her belongings. Alanna exchanged her light blue uniform for a black dress. Daughter Marinstha broke for a small second from her usual way of life and quietly ordered Alanna to be at the library that night. At lunch and dinner First Daughter Rinnesia offered an extra prayer to the Dark God in Thom's honor.

Never in her life had Alanna ever wished harder that Rowanna or Kevin were at the convent. She felt bombarded and beaten. Cythera and Jessica regarded her as some ghostly creature, keeping their conversations quiet, gentle, and ordinary, as if in fear that too loud of a sound would break her. She had no one to talk to that wouldn't immediately mention Thom's death, and it was devastating. Something in her wanted to talk about Thom, but she didn't want to hear apologies. She wanted to say, "He's dead," and then—well, then what? She didn't really know. Perhaps she would say something about how she used to shove him in the fishpond, or how he used to magically torture his superiors to get what he wanted. Then they would laugh about him, as if he were still alive, and everything would lighten up a little bit.

Despite her biting desire to get away from the apologies, though, curfew came annoyingly slowly.

Then, at ten o'clock, she headed wearily down to the library, as Marinstha had directed.

Alanna collapsed into her chair, drew her knees under her chin, and buried her face into her skirts as the tears finally started streaming. She had been holding them back all day, and it had hurt. Marinstha reached over and rubbed her back tenderly, the softest gesture Alanna had ever seen her make. "I know; I know. When my parents died… I wasn't happy either, to say the least. I can't imagine what it's like for you, though—losing a twin. I wish I could just give you a book to make the pain go away, but pain doesn't work like fear does. If there's anything I can do…."

Alanna shook her head and looked up with a sniff, wiping away tear. "I can't even really imagine that he's dead. I haven't seen him in a year—it's so hard. And there was no warning or anything—I didn't even believe it at first. I didn't really believe it until I saw the maids packing my bags and heard everyone else talk about it. Now, I feel as if it's something I'm just supposed to accept. As if, well, he's dead, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"That's more or less all there is to it."

"But it makes my head hurt."

"That's hardly the worst of the pain, though, if I remember correctly."

Alanna sighed. "This is such an impersonal world. No one else is affected like I am about Thom."

"You could make it affect them. You could scream and kick and find some way to affect them."

She frowned. "But I don't want to."

"Good, I'm glad. Sometimes you just have to move on. Like you said, there's nothing you can do about it. You hurt, yes, but so what? Tears will not bring him back, Alanna. I hate to say this, but you have a duty, and it's not to mourn him forever. Your duty is to… I don't know. Choose a duty."

Alanna shrugged. "To save people."

"Nice duty. You have to keep people from dying, because you know how much it hurts to lose a loved one and you don't want anyone else to go through that. And if it does happen, then you need to be there to comfort them, because you know how it feels. I'm not saying you're just supposed to forget Thom, but you can do more than cry over him. You can keep him with you and grow through him. Think of it as if he's helping you. He wants to make a better you. Perhaps dying wasn't the most comfortable way to do it—for anyone—but that's the way he did it. The least you can do is show him the respect of using his lesson, so he didn't die in vain. Besides, you heard what Maude said: Thom hated the palace. He never would have fit in with this world. He must be so much happier dead. You can't deny him the right to be happy."

Alanna cocked her head to the side. "No, I can't, can I?" She bit her lip, and then shivered. "But I'll never see him again."

"No, you won't. But, again, tears won't bring him back."

"But they make me feel better."

Marinstha nodded. "They do, for awhile. But… here, think of this. Knights lose best friends on the battlefield all of the time. I'm sure they cry, but they can't let that get in their way of living their lives. Yes, their friends might be dead, but they themselves are not. They still have lives to live. So do you. For example, you have to go to Corus and represent Trebond at the palace."

Alanna blanched. "The palace! I completely forgot that!"

"Sorry."

"But I can't go to the palace—I don't have the right clothes, or enough training—"

"Alanna, I think you'll manage. Your deportment teacher is already sending requests for those stylish black dresses to be made for you. And, besides, I can go too, if you'd like."

"I didn't know you could do that. I thought Daughters were restricted to the convent grounds or something."

This earned a laugh from Marinstha. "That's a string that's easy to pull; don't worry. Please let me come. I'm rather sick of the cold stuffiness up here, and I wouldn't mind an excuse to get out for a little bit. It'll also give me more time to correct papers. And this way you can continue your lessons and won't fall too far behind."

Alanna's heart leapt. "You would seriously do that?"

Marinstha raised her eyebrows. "Would I offer if I wouldn't?"

"I'd love it if you did," Alanna told her seriously. "I mean, think of me, alone, in Corus!"

"I'm more afraid for Corus, truth be told," she remarked blandly.

Alanna almost laughed, but instead started crying again. Someone was coming with her to her brother's funeral!


	7. Corus

CHAPTER 7: Corus

Two weeks later, Alanna and Jarinth found themselves in their palace guestrooms. After travelling in the cramped carriage, Alanna pulled out her breeches—which, with her practice blade, she had managed to shove in her trunk in the two seconds the maids had their backs turned—to stretch her poor, stiff body. Just then, however, Jarinth entered through the door adjoining their chambers to announce that they were going to visit an old friend of hers. Sighing, Alanna replaced her clothes and followed the Daughter into the hallway.

The door they stopped at minutes later opened to reveal a short, corpulent man who, on seeing Marinstha, grinned widely. "Jarinth! How long has it been since I last saw _you_?"

Marinstha laughed and embraced the man. "Whenever it was, you didn't have grey streaks accenting the brown in that shaggy mane of yours or a beard, _and_ you ironed your tunic."

He laughed and waved them inside. "Come in, come in, come—and this must be the lady of _Trebond_." The cheeriness in his voice dimmed greatly when he spotted Alanna.

Alanna's stomach plummeted. The jolly old man only had to glance at someone who doubtlessly reminded him of Thom and he went as cold as ice. If everyone reacted like this, the next couple days would be infernal.

"Yes, Alanna of Trebond, one of my students. Trebond, Myles of Olau, an old friend of mine."

She curtsied. "Pleased to meet you, my lord." Straightening, she was surprised to find him looking at her strangely—almost confused.

"You're not at all like your brother. He could never manage such gracious manners," he murmured, his face unreadable, and then, suddenly, laughed. "Please, I'm just Myles."

Alanna smiled. She liked this man. "Myles, then."

As the morning wore on, Alanna constantly stunned Myles with her odd range of interests and lively attitude, and Marinstha laughed each time he said so. At the same time, Marinstha surprised Alanna with her social character. As normal as laughing and talking with her had become, seeing her do the same with other people was unexpected.

After lunch, they rode down to the city for Alanna to gape at its wonders. Everything from silk scarves to Raven Armory was sold there, and it was all overpriced. Around six o'clock, Myles took them to dinner. They had just travelled down a narrow avenue on the way back when Alanna spotted the stable—or, more appropriately, the horse _in_ the stable.

"Oh Goddess," she gasped, taking in the white tail and mane and the powerful muscles that rippled under a gold coat. She was divine.

Marinstha smiled grimly. "Thirty gold nobles at _least_, Trebond, plus boarding and feed. And your father will refuse to buy her anyway. She's a warrior's pet—look at her muscles!"

"I have thirty gold nobles," Alanna murmured without taking her eyes off the horse.

"And boarding and feed?"

"I'll talk to Father—he's here for Thom's funeral."

"She's fallen in love with a _horse_," Marinstha told Myles exasperatedly. "Of all things. Of all times. And what if it's not for sale?"

"Oh, it's for sale. Do you see the sign on the stall door? It says that it's for sale," Myles explained.

"But then she'd have to find the horse's owner."

"Oh, that's not a problem. There's a hostler that works at the palace—Stefan. He knows every horse and its owner for miles around. Ask him and he'll tell you in a minute flat."

"Myles, you're supposed to be talking her _out_ of this idea. Trebond, you go ahead and talk to your father if you want, but _don't_ buy the horse beforehand."

---

Heavy grey-black clouds shrouded the sky for the funeral the next morning. The wind howled and raked at Alanna's black dress like a ravaging pack of wolves. A small drizzle began in the middle of the ceremony. For the first time in her life, Alanna did not notice the cold. When everyone else had gone inside, she stayed out and gazed long and hard at the grave, thinking of nothing.

Then, later that day, she gulped outside her father's door in the guest wing. Even after rehearsing her request, she still trembled with nerves. She licked her lips, knocked, and then entered when a dreary voice called for her to do so. Unsurprisingly, her father sat at a desk to her right, working. When he turned to look at her, she was shocked to find his eyes bloodshot and cheeks sunken. His face was smothered in wrinkles and his hair streaked with grey. To her surprise, he smiled tiredly. "Alanna. I saw you outside. I had hoped you would come to see me."

Alanna bit her tongue. Somehow she really hated him. She curtsied politely. "Father, I wanted to ask a favor."

"I've heard what the Daughters think of you at the convent. I'm willing to reward you. What do you want?"

Alanna blinked. He had just named one of her reasons already. If he was going to be this lenient with her, she might as well just skip to the point. "Father, I'd like a horse."

"A horse?" He stroked his shaggy beard. "How old are you now? Twelve? Yes... a horse _would_ be nice." He nodded. "Yes, good idea. I'll have money sent to you tonight and more to the convent with my next tuition payment. Is that all?"

Alanna gaped at him. Was that it? She forced a smile onto her awestruck face. "Yes, Father, thank you." She closed the door silently, her heart thumping. She was going to get her horse!

The next day, after getting directions to the stable where Stefan the hostler worked, she hurried outside to meet him.

"Hey—hey, Stefan?" she called into the stable. It was big and dark, with only floundering torches for light.

"Aye?" A shadow inched out of a nearby stall: a hostler, staring at the ground and fiddling with his filthy shirt.

She swallowed. "Myles told me you could tell me the owner of a horse. She—she's golden, with a white mane and tail."

His teeth bared in a smile. "Lady of honor, yer girl is, Lady Trebond." He sighed. "Th' guy ye wan' goes by th' name o' George Cooper. Ye'll find 'im at th' Dancin' Dove."

---

Jarinth helped Alanna get directions to the Dancing Dove, and then accompanied her there. Seemingly a century later, down in the city, Alanna found herself standing outside a rather disheveled inn with "Dancing Dove" faintly painted above the door. People were packed inside, bellowing to each other as they rolled dice, played cards, and tossed knives. Alanna choked on the thick stench of liquor and thin cloud of smoke blurring the air.

"Oh, gods, Alanna, you had to pick a den of thieves," Jarinth grumbled. She grabbed a random man near her. "Excuse me," she called over the din. "I'm looking for George Cooper!"

The grubby man shrieked with laughter. "'Is Majesty!" Scholar cried. "Well, ye dun say! Foller me, then!" He dove into the crowd, expecting them to follow.

"'Majesty'? Why do they call him 'maj—" Alanna cut herself off as they reached a large table just in front of an empty fireplace, where everyone had stopped to stare at her.

"Oh, look, it's th' goddess Trebond!" a nearby chesty woman sneered, and her neighbors roared in response. Alanna could only stare in shock.

"Lady Trebond," a smooth, refined voice suddenly broke in. The group silenced immediately to look at the man at the head of the table. He had brown hair and hazel eyes and looked no more than twenty years old, though he held himself like royalty. "They call me 'majesty' because I _am_ their majesty—I am the King of the Thieves, the Rogue. I lead those who bypass the law. What can I do for you?" He leaned forward, his relentless eyes boring into hers. "I assume it's me you came to see."

If this was George Cooper, Alanna dearly wished it wasn't. She didn't know what she had been expecting, but it wasn't this cold, strong man that spoke to her now. Clenching her teeth, she dipped into a smooth curtsy. "Your Majesty."

Her spectators roared with laughter. Alanna bit her tongue. She was getting rather sick of these people. Why did they have to be there at all?

An amused smile and slight twinkle in his eyes replaced the cool look on George's face. He bobbed his head politely in return. "Lady Trebond."

"I hold interest in a horse that I was informed you have on the market."

He nodded and stood up. "Follow me." He led them outside and directly to the stables, where Alanna could hardly remember her manners and keep from dashing past him to the mount. "This would be the lady you were talking about, wouldn't it be?" he asked, patting the horse's neck. "You're not going to get her cheap, you know."

Alanna grinned. "So I've been told."

"Why don't you have a look at her before you make any last decisions, Trebond," Marinstha murmured strongly, eyeing George with distrust.

George raised his eyebrows at her. "Do you seriously think I'd sell a faulty horse, my lady?"

"You're the King of the Thieves. I'm not supposed to know what to think, remember?"

He grinned, and swung the stall door open. "Go on."

Alanna approached and studied the horse as she had been taught at the convent, shivering with excitement as she noticed each new, magnificent detail about her. When she had inspected her from nose to tail, she stood up and turned to George. "How much is she?"

"Wait! I want to see papers," Marinstha demanded.

George shook his head with a wry smile. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the form, and handed it to her. "I am in no way trying to cheat you," he told her kindly.

"Hmph." She frowned down at the sheet, pursed her lips, and handed it back to him.

He shrugged and returned to Alanna. "Thirty gold nobles and she's yours. Thirty-two with tack, though it's not sidesaddle."

Alanna agreed immediately and offered him her fist, as Kevin had taught her. George looked surprised, and then shook his head in amusement. He chucked her.

After paying, Alanna ran her hand lovingly over her horse's neck. "Moonlight," she whispered. "I'll call her Moonlight."

---

Alanna sat in the library an hour later, slaving over an impossible history paper, when, suddenly, someone gasped, "_Alanna_?"

She glanced up, startled, to find a giant of a fifteen-year-old with brown hair tightly curled to his head and coal-black eyes staring at her. She did not recognize him at all. "Yes?"

"You don't know me? Rowanna talks of you day in and day out!"

Alanna's jaw dropped. "Not… Goldenlake? Raoul of Goldenlake?"

He grinned. "That's right. How are you?"

"Hey, who's the—" A chestnut-haired boy appeared at Raoul's side, glimpsed Alanna, and pursed his lips. "Trebond."

She stood and curtsied, using the time her face was bowed to make sure her expression wasn't as frosty as his. Was everyone going to badmouth her for being Thom's sister? "My lord."

"Alanna, this is Gareth the Younger of Naxen. Gary, this is Alanna—she's Rowanna's friend," Raoul introduced cheerily, ignoring his friend's hostile glower.

"I know who she is," Gareth snapped and, rounding on Alanna, spat, "Hardly surprising, finding you in the library, just like Thom. I'm shocked that you're not in the Gift-section. You—"

Raoul clapped a hand over Gareth's mouth. "_That's enough._" He looked up at Alanna, whose jaw was clenched and eyes were flaming. "Sorry. We're a very hard-hearted bunch over here. Thom—gods ease his passing—was not very popular, and, no offense meant but... you kind of resemble him."

Alanna recognized one of the few apologies she would receive for everyone's rigidness about Thom, and forced herself to calm down. Losing her temper now would only mean more humiliation. She smiled, however thinly. "I apologize for my brother's lack of tact. Had I known he was being so antagonistic, I would have done my best to correct him. As it was, I didn't, and it's too late now. I can only offer my most profound apologies, which I do with all of my heart."

Gareth gaped at her for a moment, and then resumed his dark glare. "If you'll excuse us, we must be going. We have… a class."

"No, we don't—" Raoul began, but then yelped as Gareth elbowed him in the ribs and dragged him away. "Nice meeting you, Trebond."

"See you later, Alanna!" Raoul called, tugging his friend off him.

The second they were out of sight, Alanna snapped her book shut and tore out of the library to Jarinth's empty room, slamming the door with a scream. She marched irately over to her teacher's herb box and stole a fingerful of vervain. How _dare_ Thom leave her in this mess, leave her stranded, all alone and hated. She was his sister—his _twin_, for Mithros' sake! "You're not getting away that easily," she snapped to the air, barging into her own room and up to the fire that a maid had lit it just a half an hour ago to help counter September's chilliness. She tossed the leaves into the flames. She would scry for him. He thought he was so sneaky, getting away like this, but she wouldn't allow it. He would come back and help her cope with this Chaos of Court.

"Father Universe and Mother Flame," she snarled. The fire tinged purple. She shivered as a magical aura washed over her. "Great Mother Goddess and Mithros—"

The flames went violet. Biting her tongue, she shoved her hands into the blaze. Alien power rushed agonizingly through her arms, but she maintained the prayer, searching for Thom.

Something began to blur in the fire, though it was not the fire itself. It was a picture, traveling so fast she couldn't make anything out but streaks of colors. It went faster and faster—she couldn't see anything—it was rushing past—

It stopped. Alanna lurched dizzily, and frowned at the picture that had frozen in the flames. She did not recognize it at all. It was a city—that much she was sure of—but it was unlike any she had ever seen. It was carved from black stone and gleamed in the hot rays of an invisible sun.

"Thom?" she whispered. He had to be hiding, since she couldn't see him.

But, the moment the word left her lips, the picture vanished and the blurring lines reappeared. They lasted for just seconds, and then slowly dissolved, leaving no more than purple flames. With a miserable shriek, Alanna yanked her hands back, and yellow immediately replaced the purple in the fire.

She sat back, sobbing. She hadn't found Thom. Thom wasn't there. Thom was dead.


	8. A New Reputation

CHAPTER 8: A New Reputation

That evening, Marinstha barged into Alanna's room to cry, "Trebond, get dressed! I just accepted an invitation to dine privately with the royal family tonight!"

Alanna shot out of bed, where she had been peacefully reading. "You _what_?"

"Hurry up! Your dress is wrinkled; you'll have to put on a new one..." Marinstha threw open Alanna's wardrobe doors and gasped in dismay. "_Black?_ All you have is _black_?"

"I'm mourning, remember? Mourning people wear black."

"Oh, gods, _curse_ fashion! Here, wear this one. It's fluttery, and that bit of gold cord is the only real color you have in this box. You get dressed and I'll send for a maid to put up your hair..."

A half an hour later, Marinstha was hurrying Alanna down a hallway, loading her with last-minute instructions. "Remember to be polite, no matter how cold they are to you, and that they _rarely_ dine privately together and they're being _extremely_ charitable to invite as regular a guest as you to eat with them."

"But _you're_ a regular guest, aren't you?"

"Actually, I'm a good friend of Her Majesty's, so no, I'm not 'regular.' Now, here we are. Let me have one last look at you... Fine, or as fine as you'll ever be in black. Oh, and, watch Lianne."

"What? Watch Her Majesety? Why?"

"Because I'll use her as an example in a future lesson. Just watch her. Daughter Marinstha and Lady Alanna, please," she told the servant who stood outside the door they had arrived at.

Inside, five people sat around an ornate dining table, and Alanna was dismayed to recognize one of them. Gareth the Younger stood beside his year-younger, dark-haired, and sapphire-eyed cousin, Prince Jonathan, and both watched her with hard, hateful expressions. Next to them were their fathers, Duke Gareth the Elder of Naxen with his own rigid gaze, and King Roald, who, to Alanna's relief, managed to hide any cold feelings he had towards Trebond and smiled kindly at her. Queen Lianne also greeted her pleasantly.

Following Marinstha's orders, Alanna watched the Queen. As far as she could tell, though, there wasn't much to see. Lianne wore a beautiful light blue and silver brocade dress over a stark white chemise, elegantly accenting her pale skin and intricately-braided black hair. Her voice was light and cheerful, despite frequent interruptions by slight coughs. Alanna was not surprised: Lianne was notorious for her bad health, as she managed to catch every little Court cold and had considerably weakened over the years.

Everything went smoothly until the fourth and last course. Duke Gareth and King Roald had moved on to some odd conversation about the Yamani Islands and Daughter Marinstha had engaged Queen Lianne in a friendly chat on hair-care, leaving Alanna to Jonathan and Gareth.

"So, Lady Alanna, have you been enjoying your stay at Court so far?" the Prince tried for polite conversation.

"Yes, it's been delightful; thank you, Your Highness."

Jonathan nodded, wondering how to continue such a bland conversation. "Excellent. So, um... How are your studies going?"

Alanna shrugged. "Well enough, Your Highness. You know, they're just the usual—math, philosophy. Nothing extremely fascinating. But how about your martial arts classes? How are they?"

Jonathan exchanged glances with his cousin and shrugged. "Each class is an hour. We start off with exercises, and then the first-years have staffing while second-years have fencing—"

"Thom never got that far. He didn't even get into the smithy. His teachers were never satisfied with his staffing," Gareth commented nastily.

Alanna's hand jumped to her head in shock. "That _stupid_ brother of mine!"

"Well, hey, he wasn't _that _bad...," Gareth consoled awkwardly.

"Did he ever touch a sword—even once?" she asked, willing them to answer her positively.

Both boys grimaced. "Not once," Jonathan said. "But they tried to get him to study it while he was working with the staff. He had to learn the basic moves by name, and watch how they were done. He had to learn the basic defense strokes, and which one could be used with which attack."

"And?" Alanna asked hopefully.

"Like I said before: pathetic," Gareth described heartlessly. "My father asks for the answer to a head cut; Thom says 'a swing.'"

"Oh Goddess!" Alanna gasped. "That's an offensive move! And he was just _reciting_ it? Mithros! Even _I _would say the quinte!" Alanna cried.

The two boys stared at her.

"You know fencing?"

Alanna jumped, not having realized the adults had stopped talking and were also gaping at her. Only Marinstha did not look stunned. Quite contrarily, she was struggling to hide a smile. "Duke Gareth asked you a question, Trebond," she hinted wickedly.

Alanna's face tinged pick, and she shrugged a shoulder. "Well, bits and pieces, you know, Your Grace. Coram taught Thom and me a little when we were younger—"

"Oh." Duke Gareth did not seem too impressed anymore. "So you know as much as Thom."

Alanna's pride took over and she stuck her chin defiantly into the air. "Hardly. Thom has never been able to do that kind of stuff. He's always liked his Gift."

Duke Gareth leaned back in his chair. "Do you like to fence, Lady Alanna?"

Alanna forgot her audience and allowed her eyes to glow. "I love it."

Marinstha nodded and added dryly, "Yes, she does love it. She loves it so much that she has to practice _every_ _single morning_—in her room, no less, where she wakes me up!"

"I don't see why you shouldn't use the practice courts," King Roald pointed out. "I'm sure no one would mind. Not many nobles use them so early in the morning."

"Not many nobles are even up so early in the morning," Duke Gareth remarked critically.

"There. Problem solved. You can run off your annoyingly large surplus of energy tomorrow morning _without_ waking me up," Marinstha told her cheerfully.

Duke Gareth glanced from the Daughter to Alanna, contemplating something. Finally, he asked slowly, "What do you think of the Gift, Lady Alanna?"

Alanna cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean, Your Grace? The Gift is the Gift—what am I supposed to think about it?"

"Do you believe it is more or less important than learning to fight?"

Roald, Lianne, Jonathan, and Gareth the Younger all leaned in quickly to hear Alanna's answer.

Confused at their intentness to her response, she glanced at Marinstha, who, to her annoyance, just raised an eyebrow. Alanna frowned, thinking. Time was she would have shuddered and assured them that any warrior who used the Gift was a disgusting cheat. Only now did she realize how much Daughter Marinstha had affected her beliefs. "I think they're equal, Your Grace. If you have the Gift, you should learn to use it, obviously. It would be terrible to be stuck in a war against mages and not know how to use a power that would help defeat them. Having an advantage over your enemy is not a sin. But if you're training to be a knight, just the Gift will not help you get through the Ordeal of Knighthood. You must be strong, and physically fighting would make you strong. And there will always be someone more powerful in the Gift than you, so you must be able to beat them without the Gift. And in a duel, the Gift is not allowed. You must be able to fight for that, too." She blinked, and then glanced around at them. They were all staring at her.

---

The next morning, Alanna took advantage of not having convent classes. Using the outside courtyards where the air was nice and cool, she stretched and then practiced with her weighted sword for two hours. Not one person approached her, to her delight. She then spent three hours riding Moonlight and learning that if either her horse or she needed training, it was she. Moonlight was a dream come true, obeying her every command and taking each jump as gracefully as a cat. They only stopped at eleven-thirty to get ready for lunch.

Since the pages trained outside in the afternoon, she headed to the indoor courts to practice archery after lunch. One and a half hours passed before she noticed her audience.

He was a sandy-haired, blue-eyed boy, towering over her by a good eight inches. He looked to be fifteen or so, and Alanna knew by his frosty smirk that he meant trouble.

"Lady Trebond, is it not?" he drawled, sauntering towards her. Crooked teeth made him spit his S's.

"It is." She nodded. "May I help you?"

He was only a couple of feet from her now. "Yeah, you can help me. You can rot in the Realm of the Dead for all eternity."

Confusion at his ill words kept her from preparing for the fist that slammed into her stomach. Alanna gasped and stumbled back, clutching her belly. She glanced up at the boy just in time to see his fist fly towards her again. She lunged to the side, just missing the blow. He lurched forward with the force of his unfinished punch, giving her time to regain balance.

"Who are you?" she cried, and then bit her tongue. Now he knew she was scared.

"I'm a noble, unlike you, for one. I don't roll in the dust like a damn animal; I fight like a chivalrous man!"

He flung another punch at her, this one wild with anger. Disoriented by the unexpectedness of what was happening, her reflexes shut down until the last possible minute, only just allowing her to block his hand and slam her own into his stomach. Her arm went numb as it connected with hard muscle.

"I don't use magic to make me look good." He shoved her; she fell. He kicked her; she gasped. "I'm honorable, bitch." He yanked her up by her shirt and bloodied her nose.

She did the only thing she could, terrified at how her body ignored any and all orders to defend her, and slapped him. He swore and dropped her as his eye began to swell. Then, suddenly, she heard footsteps running away. Her surroundings spun incontrollably. She could hardly boost herself up onto her knees, let alone stand. When a shadow passed over her, she braced herself for another blow.

Something cool touched her cheek. She flinched away. She was on fire; all she felt was pain.

"Alanna, don't be afraid. Ralon's gone. Come on—I'll take you to a healer. I'll tell my father what happened—Ralon will be forced to leave. Don't be afraid. Come now, Alanna."

Alanna's face jerked towards the person who was talking to her. She forced her gaze to focus, even if it did make her head pound harder than ever. Gareth the Younger knelt next to her, his face the gentlest she had ever seen it.

"No!"

He winced when he saw her face. "You look terrible. What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I didn't get into a fight. I fell. You don't have to tell your father anything."

Gareth's jaw dropped. "You _fell_?" he squeaked. "Alanna, don't be stupid. I was right there; I saw him whip you."

"Nobody whipped me. I fell." Then she frowned. "Did you say 'Ralon'? Ralon of Malven?"

"Yes, Ralon of Malven. He always beat up Thom. _Thom_ never fell. Everyone will believe you if you say he hit you—"

"But that would be lying. He didn't hit me. I fell."

Gary scrubbed his face with both hands and groaned. "Fine. You fell. Will you go see a healer, now? You look like crap."

"No. That would be humiliating."

"You Trebonds and humiliation!" he bellowed, jumping to his feet. "You're already humiliated! Thom's been here, remember? Everyone expects you to go to a healer!"

"Well, everyone's wrong. I'm Alanna, and I don't like to be humiliated."

He inhaled deeply, and then let his breath out slowly. "Fine. You're Alanna, and you don't like to be humiliated. Fine. Will you at least let me walk you back to your room?"

"Do you promise not to tell anyone about this?"

"I promise no such thing."

Alanna sighed. "At least not your superiors, then."

Gareth seemed to struggle with himself, and then nodded. "I promise not to tell my superiors. Now let me help you up."

---

"We're leaving tomorrow at dawn," Marinstha updated her student after a dinner that Alanna had skipped. "Myles is riding with us to Olau, where we'll stay for a day and two nights. Myles doesn't like carriages and I don't either, for that matter, so we'll be taking horses. You _will_ be riding sidesaddle in Myles' presence, remember. Now, unless you want to tell me who hit you?"

"Nobody hit me," Alanna repeated wearily. "I fell."

Marinstha was not surprised. "Then I'm off to bed. Good night." She left, shutting the door adjoining their rooms behind her.

Alanna rubbed her face weakly, thankful Marinstha did not hound her for the name of her enemy. Quite the contrary, the Daughter had been rather good about it and taught her how to stench the blood flow, reduce the swelling, and heal the bruises covering her torso. The next morning, there would be little more than green marks to show she had ever suffered at all.

She flopped into bed, having bathed and dressed for the night right after Gareth dropped her off.

Gareth. Alanna linked her fingers behind her head and stared up into the surrounding darkness, contemplating the Duke's son. She had now seen him three times, and each time he had expressed an extreme disliking—no, a _hatred—_for Thom and had extended that feeling towards her for their first two meetings. Today, however, he had been so nice—kind, almost. He shouldn't have paid any attention to her at all, because she was Thom's sister, and that he had gone out of his way to help her could mean only one thing: he did not see her as Thom's sister anymore.

So first Raoul, then Myles, and now Gareth. Alanna fell asleep content that night.


	9. Olau

CHAPTER 9: Olau

Olau was endless acres of golden beauty. Although Alanna's first thought was of how little trouble an enemy would have raining arrows upon the unprotected mansion set in such a low valley, she then realized that Olau didn't _have_ any enemies. Unlike Trebond, this fief was not built to fend off bloodthirsty Scanrans. Instead, it was simply a calm, peaceful home for a tired man to return to after months of interminable work.

"This is _lovely_," she whispered, awed.

Myles beamed. "You caught her at a good time: just before harvesting season. Nothing's brown. Now, come with me—my servants should be expecting us."

After long, warm baths, the three of them supped, chatted, and then slept, not willing to do much more after their day-long ride. Alanna slept warm and comfortably that night, and was much peeved when she awoke at four-thirty the next morning. After practicing her fencing, she headed down to the morning room Myles had pointed out to her the night before. It had the largest windows in the house and, as not many people were up at this hour, she could enjoy the magnificent views in silence for a little bit. To her surprise, though, the vast room was already occupied.

"Ah, good morning, Alanna," Myles greeted cheerfully. He sat in one of the room's four armchairs in front of a blazing fire. "Sit down! Have a cup of apple cider, made from Olau's best."

Alanna obeyed. The sweet, warm liquid made her tongue tingle, and she murmured her approval. "Do you often come down here so early in the morning?" she asked curiously.

Myles laughed. "Hardly. I was waiting for you, actually. I want you to go walking with me."

"Myles, it's six o'clock in the morning," she reminded him gently.

He laughed again. Alanna found she liked making him laugh. "I know. We'll leave after breakfast—that is, _if_ you want to go?"

"No, no, no, of course I'll go! I need to get out more, and it's so nice here. Where are we going?"

Myles shrugged. "I have some ruins from the Old Ones—"

Alanna jumped to her feet in a breathless wave of excitement. "_Really?_ Well, then, let's go!"

"Alanna, it's six o'clock in the morning," he reminded her gently.

---

The half-hour walk to ruins proved well worth the work. Alanna could only gasp in awe when they arrived. Crumbled marble gleaming in the bright sunlight stretched out before them for a breathtaking distance. A black wooden gate dangling on its bronze hinges opened into what used to be a castle in the time of the Old Ones.

"It all looks so _new_," she whispered, stepping forward as she stared around with wide eyes.

"I noticed that too," Myles agreed. "My guess is that they—the Old Ones—coated everything in something that would make it appear new because they were afraid of aging. Now, don't be afraid to explore—it's fun. I've found the kitchen, and I think the armory—"

"Oh, look, here's the armory!" Alanna called, and then sneezed. She rubbed her nose and sneezed again. "See these brackets on the walls? Those would fit weapons perfectly. And lookit here—a spearhead!"

"Exactly what I thought," Myles agreed, laughing. "You're too quick at this kind of thing. Don't bother with that." Alanna was hauling on the handle of a black stone board. It wouldn't budge. "I tried to move it years ago, and I had a friend with me. It didn't even twitch."

"Oh, well, it couldn't hurt to try," Alanna wheezed, sweat forming on her brow as she strained.

Myles had a feeling her pride—so very like Thom's—would not be satisfied until the slab had at least shuddered, which he knew it wouldn't. Shaking his head, he reached down to help her.

Suddenly, an earsplitting screech sliced through the air, and Alanna jumped backwards as the slab slid towards them, uncovering a dark hole. Myles stared at it, dumbstruck.

"How in the world...?" he murmured numbly.

"Look, there's a staircase! Let's go down!" Alanna suggested gleefully.

"Wait, Alanna— " he began. Alanna was gone. He blinked stupidly at the space where she had just been, and then shoved his head into the tunnel to bellow, "Alanna, get back here!"

Her voice was hardly audible as she shouted back, "Hold on! I just want to see what's down here!"

"Alanna, I want you back up here right now—"

---

Darkness surrounded Alanna as she descended the spiral steps. Out of habit, she raised her hand, palm up, and sprouted a ball of violet flame to guide her way. It hardly helped. No matter how much she strengthened it, all she could see were the steps she walked on. Her extra hand held a handkerchief to her mouth, which was issuing a violent torrent of sneezes.

It was strange, in the darkness. She felt as if she were walking through cobwebs, like some shadowy being lay just beyond her Gift light, beckoning to her. Her soul would make her follow it, even if her body didn't want to. And there was also a singing, an eery singing, one that made her skin crawl. She swallowed nervously and continued down the stairs, ignoring Myles' faint pleads for her to return.

Suddenly, as she turned a corner, her Gift blasted into a hundred different beams and spots, like sunlight reflected off a multilateral mirror. Before her, a crystal lay on a stone step. Curious, she bent to pick it up, not noticing as the lights around her dimmed.

The crystal was attached to the hilt of a light sword. Although enshrouded by a battered leather scabbard, the blade's even weight manifested its professional creator.

"Myles, I found a sword!" she shouted excitedly.

"I don't care if you found my gods-cursed _mother_ in that rat-hole—get up here _now_!" Alanna started and glanced back towards the knight as she caught the fearful tone in his voice. "I have a stormcloud on my back, and we need to get home _now_!"

It was then that the shadow got her. She tried to shriek as invisible icy fingers laced around her throat, but the darkness clogged her mouth the moment she parted her lips. It seeped up her nose and slammed against her chest, knocking the breath from her body. She was without air in her lungs and unable to breathe.

Bright lights popped behind her eyes, and she panicked. She tried to scream, tried to breath, tried to do _something_, but couldn't.

Sinking to her knees, Alanna realized she was dying. This was it; this was the end. She was done with life. Now was time for death.

She allowed the darkness that filled her every pore to weigh her completely to the ground. She didn't notice how she clung to her sword's hilt with white-knuckled fingers. All she knew was that she wanted to sleep, and sleep wasn't very far away.

All of a sudden, something as bright as the sun exploded, and air slammed its way into Alanna's body, stunning her for some seconds. She gasped, astonished by this old use of her lungs. What was she doing? She wasn't supposed to be breathing: she was _dead_! Blinking rapidly, the first thing she saw was the crystal of her sword, blazing blindingly from just below the hands—her hands—squeezing its hilt. She faintly glimpsed Myles shouting for her over a huge roar of thunder. Without thinking twice and still panting heavily, she threw herself up the stairs, dragging the sword numbly behind her.

"Are you _insane_?" Myles demanded furiously, grabbing her when she appeared out of the tunnel and, half dragging her, raced back to the castle. It was only later that Alanna recalled the torrents of rain riding strong blasts of wind, the sky black with storm clouds except where sliced by streaks of lightning accompanied by the deafening bellows of thunder.

Back at the castle, after a warm bath, Alanna returned to the morning room with the sword. Again, Myles awaited her, sipping a mug of steaming cider. But, this time, Daughter Marinstha sat at his side, her face dangerously impassive. She nodded to another chair; Alanna sat. Myles pushed a brimming mug towards her, but she could only stare at it, forgetting what it was for.

"So," Marinstha began coolly, setting her own cup on the table so she could give Alanna her full attention. "I send you with a friend of mine and you refuse to listen to him. A reasonable explanation would be highly regarded, Trebond."

"I—I died," Alanna excused herself faintly.

"You died," she repeated. "Maybe you should start from the beginning, because I feel as if Myles and I have missed something."

Slowly, Alanna obeyed. She told them everything, and then they sat silently, listening to the fire crackle hearteningly beside them as the storm raged outside. Alanna managed to get her numb fingers to clutch her cup with both hands, raise it to her lips, and hold it there as she sipped. Only when her fingers began to burn from the heat of the mug did she replace it on the table and look up at her elders. "I apologize for not obeying you," she said honestly. "I don't know why I didn't. I'll do my best to mend my ways and, of course, I'll willingly accept any punishment you feel fit to give me."

Marinstha sighed. "I would tan your hide until you couldn't sit for another year, _but_ Myles has managed to talk me out of the idea. Now that I hear what happened, I agree with him. You have been punished enough, I think. Now;" Marinstha glanced around her as if to make sure no one was listening and then leaned forward, her blue eyes intent, "you say the crystal _came to life_?"

Myles snorted into his cider, and Alanna rubbed her mouth vigorously to hide a smile. Nothing could keep Marinstha away from new magic, it seemed.

"It brightened up. The darkness killed me, and then the crystal blazed, and the darkness left. I could breathe again." Alanna shuddered at the memory.

"So when you accepted death—" Marinstha calculated slowly.

"The sword saved you," Myles finished. "May I see it?" Alanna shoved it to him. He turned it slowly in his fingers, studying it carefully from the crystal to the tip of the brown, antiquated scabbard.

Marinstha watched him for a moment before remarking, "Doubtless the sword called up the storm. It's most definitely magic. I can see it—I can feel it."

Myles nodded and handed it back to Alanna. "Very nice blade, my dear. I'd keep it near me always, if I were you."

"Oh, but Myles, it's not mine! It's yours, came from your ruins—" Alanna protested.

"But you found it," he explained patiently. "That makes it yours. What's more, I have no need of a magic sword. It would be foolish and haunting to keep it for myself."

Alanna stared at the sword with wide eyes, hardly able to believe she finally had her own blade.

"Why don't you unsheathe it?" he suggested.

Alanna glanced up at him and Marinstha. He looked expectant; her eyebrows were raised. Licking her lips, she took hold of the scabbard in one hand and the hilt in the other, squeezed her eyes shut, and pulled. After a moment or two of silence, she opened her eyes again. Both adults were watching her with amused expressions. She frowned.

"Was something supposed to happen?" she inquired quizzically.

"I was expecting something a bit more godly myself," Myles admitted.

"I wasn't," Marinstha said bluntly. "Why should it do something 'godly'? Alanna hasn't accepted death in the past couple of seconds, has she?"

Myles shook his head, smiling at Alanna. "Sometimes I feel really childish around her. I can't imagine what it's like for you—you _live_ with her!"

Alanna laughed as Marinstha glared at him.

He nodded to the blade. "What are you going to name her?"

Alanna bit the inside of her cheek, thinking. Finally, she replied, "I was thinking about 'Lightning,' since she brought on the storm, you know?"

Marinstha nodded. "That's reasonable. Now, we have to establish some rules. Just because you have your own sword doesn't mean you can go bragging about it and carrying it everywhere you go. And you definitelycannot boast that it's magic, if you must say that you have a sword at all. You'd attract too much unwanted attention."

"Right. You got her as a gift from me," Myles agreed.

"But I have to tell Rowanna and Kevin!"

"Fine—you can tell them, and I should probably tell Daughter Rinnesia, but _no one else_, understand?"

Alanna sighed at the thought of keeping more secrets, and then shook her head. Whatever. Turning to Myles, she asked, "I keep seeing you play chess. Could you teach me, please?"


	10. Third Year

CHAPTER 10: Third Year

"Winter's first minstrel!" Cythera yipped, fidgeting excitedly as the first course of dinner was set on the table.

Alanna glanced up at the stairs that led to the dais in the dining hall. There, dressed in a flamboyant patchwork of rainbow-colored polka dots, stripes and checkers, sat the first bard in the convent for almost a half a year. Due to countless mountain blizzards—the usual Grimhold Mountain winter—the City of the Gods had been cut off from almost every snippet of news from the south. Every year, the first minstrel of the late winter or early spring was met with open arms and feasts. It was time to learn the latest of country feuds, Court gossip, and any news from families. True, everything was at least a month old due to the frightful difficulty of getting through the melting snows of the mountain pass, but at least it was something.

Then the bard stood up, and a hush fell over the dining hall.

"Ah! Silence! What a pleasurable sound!" he cried pretentiously. Then he paused and added, "For a little while. But you—you, my friends, have wallowed in silence for too long. It is time that you _hear_ again! That you learn of that which happens around you, of that which is good, and of that which is bad. I am here with that news, with the information of that which has happened—the events that have ended in love and in war—and I'm here to enlighten you with it.

"Now, listen closely, my friends, for this news which you are about to hear is no normal news! It comes all the way back from the month of September, when the air smelled fresh and crisp and a pleasant breeze tugged at clothes and hair. The place is Corus, the palace, with nobles just beginning to return from their voyages, not wanting to be stranded out in the open when the first snow began to fall. It is they, those nobles, who first witnessed this strange sight...

"She rides a horse sidesaddle but

Enemies, beware!

She wields a sword with a knightly force

And the strength of a bear.

She haunts the dreams of demons

Wears curlers in her hair

Can fight a giant without a thought

But be late for dinner? That's rare!

Dresses made of silk

Face paint applied with care

Gifted with both brains and brawn

Daggers hidden everywhere.

Leaves the palace in an uproar:

Who is this girl so fair?

There are whispers floating 'round about,

Rumors in the air

Shall I tell you what they are;

Reveal the truth, do I dare?

But of course!

She's ALANNA OF TREBOND:

THE LADY ON A BATTLE MARE!"

---

That day was the beginning of disaster for Alanna. Jessica treated her like some sort of clueless foreigner, and although Cythera managed to still act friendly, the intimacy in their friendship had greatly deteriorated. The boys did not find a day complete until they had screamed part of Freeman Hennet's song down the hallway after her. Teachers regarded her as something dangerous, each one—even the instructor of math—managing to somehow lecture her on discretion and the extent of a lady's right and role in society.

"I'm _doomed_!" Alanna cried one September night in the library. "It's been a whole _year_ since I went to that palace, and the memories are _still_ haunting me!"

Marinstha laughed. "I think this is hilarious. You spend three days in Corus and become famous!"

"Infamous, you mean. Now the convent has its own Thom the Demon."

"Trebond, I have a question to ask you," Marinstha said abruptly. "I was wondering if, maybe, perhaps you'd like a governess."

Alanna's eyebrows jumped together in confusion at the sudden, random remark. A girl with arranged marriages often had picky future parents-in-law who wanted to ensure that their daughter-to-be was properly trained. To do this, after three years in the convent, such a girl could continue her training privately with a pre-chosen noblewoman—a governess. Most girls didn't do it, instead staying at the convent. Alanna had planned to join this majority for the rest of her education. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not staying at the convent, Trebond. I'm leaving—before winter. And I was wondering if you wanted to come with me."

Alanna stared at her in disbelief. "You mean... _me_?"

Marinstha jerked her head in a nod. "I believe so."

"But my father—" Alanna instantly protested.

"I've written to you father. He thinks I'm your etiquette teacher. He said yes. I also told him we're traveling. You'll meet more people and learn different things this way. And we'll be going down to Carthak sooner or later, I think, so you'll be able to continue your studies in that. Just a number of educational reasons—your father's a scholar, so he likes that kind of stuff. So do diplomats, so there _will_ be _some_ men who don't look at you strangely. And, truth be told, Alanna, I don't want to go travelling alone. It makes me feel stupid."

Alanna could only gape. However suspiciously fantastic her situation was, the road leaving the convent with Marinstha looked amazingly clear. "Leave the convent? I couldn't say no!"

"Excellent!" Marinstha exclaimed. "Now, there are a couple of things you have to know. For one, I can't have you calling me 'Daughter Marinstha' and 'my lady' once we're out of here. I hereby give you permission to call me by my first name."

"'_Jarinth_'?" Alanna gasped. "You want me to call you 'Jarinth'?"

"It's not a bad name—"

"Daughter Marinstha," Alanna cut in flatly, "I'm your _student_. I can't call you by your first name!"

"Why not? Once I hand in my resignation, I will no longer be a Daughter. I don't _want_ to be a Daughter. What will you call me then? 'Lady Marinstha'? Please don't. It annoys me, and the last thing we need is a wrinkly old noblewoman wearing breeches. My name will be Jarinth Marinstha. I always travel as that. Many people recognize that name as a commoner's instead of a noble's because I've travelled so much as a commoner already. You can stay as Alanna of Trebond because not many people have heard of you, and those who have already know you're weird."

Alanna only just resisted sticking her tongue out in reply and instead contented herself with a grimace. "Fine, then. Gods, this'll be awkward—Jarinth. What else do I have to know?"

"Our first major stop is the Great Southern Desert. No, don't look at me like that, I _know_ it's dangerous. But we'll stay pretty close to Persopolis—"

"Sorry?"

"Persopolis. The one stone city in the whole desert. But, as I was saying, we'll make plenty of other stops on the way. Olau—because I adore Olau and I'll go there every chance I get, even if Myles isn't there—and Port Caynn and so on and so forth. We'll be in the Great Southern Desert by the first Corus snowfall, though, believe me.

"But I have also offered my services to His Grace, so if he ever happens to have need of a mage, he can call on me, and we're obligated to be at his side in seconds. That shouldn't be _too_ soon, but it probably will happen once or twice.

"And when I say 'travel', I mean _travel_. None of this two-weeks-in-a-stuffy-carriage nonsense. We have three mounts: two to ride and one extra to carry camping gear, so pack _lightly_. Usually I survive with three outfits: one for the day, one for the night, and one extra. Wear breeches. Replace corsets with breastbands. And prepare ahead of time for your period—as if puberty isn't bad enough at home, it follows you out onto the road too, where there's a limited supply of bandages. _No cosmetics_. Have Kevin get you a dagger or two, so you have less conspicuous of weapons than Lightning. There's a certain type of saddlebag you should be able to keep this all in that you can unfold into a sleeping bag at night—I'll get you one. Do you have a water canteen? No, of course not. I'll get that for you too. So," she finished cheerfully, "what do you think?"

Alanna was impressed. "You really have this all planned out, don't you?"

Marinstha beamed. "I'm no stranger to travelling."

"Okay then. When do we leave?"

"Saturday. Dawn."

Alanna's jaw dropped. "_Saturday?_" she squeaked.

"Yes. Today's Wednesday. I announce my departure tomorrow. That gives you a day to pack and a day to say good-bye. I would write to Disart, too, if I were you, because you're going to be so caught up later reporting everything that's happened you won't remember to tell her you've left. Come on, Trebond, the sooner the better. Two days more and you don't have to listen to one more _syllable_ of Hennet's song!"

Marinstha knew her too well. Alanna grinned. "Saturday! I can't wait!"

---

_Clothes, writing kit, daggers, Lightning, saddle,_ Alanna listed off nervously in her head. Like always before long journeys, she had the terrible feeling of having forgotten something. She shook her head. _Calm down. Everything will be_ fine.

The first rays of sun were just glimmering over the eastern mountaintops, but they were hardly enough to light the courtyard around her. Torches had to suffice instead. From the small, flickering flames, she could just make out Marinstha going over last-minute instructions with First Daughter Rinnesia, who was keeping a hawk's eye on the hostler as he checked the buckles of the horses' saddles one more time. It was much calmer than when she had left for Corus. Then, there had been a carriage, footmen running all over with luggage, Daughters lecturing on proper Court manners, and students in their nightclothes with their noses pressed to the high windows, awake at six o'clock in the morning to see her off. Today no one knew Alanna was leaving so early—Marinstha had made sure of that. The last thing they wanted was someone untrustworthy seeing the two of them riding away in breeches.

"Ready?"

Alanna jumped and turned to see Marinstha about to mount up onto her horse, Bella. Alanna nodded weakly and swung up onto Moonlight. Then the gates swung open.

"Alright," Marinstha said as they urged their horses forward. "Great Southern Desert, here we come!"


	11. The Great Southern Desert

CHAPTER 11: The Great Southern Desert

The Great Southern Desert—also known as Fief Meron, currently led by Lord Martin of Meron—took up almost the whole southern half of Tortall, omitting only the Coastal Hills to the west, the Hill Country to the east, and the Southern Wall to the south. The sands homed the dark-skinned Bazhir tribesmen, only a fraction of whom swore loyalty to the northern king, leaving the majority troublesome renegades. Still, Alanna loved the months she spent there.

The dawn after her arrival in Persopolis in late October, she had just found a secluded fencing court when a Bazhir man strode up. Her breath caught—would he forbid her to practice?

He held out his hand. "I'm Ali Mukhtab, governor of the castle. You must be Alanna of Trebond. Jarinth told me you had an interest in fencing. I saw you practicing, and I was wondering if you wanted a tutor. I'm a fencer myself, you see, and I'm delighted that a girl such as yourself holds interest in the so-called 'manly arts.'"

Alanna stared at him in surprise. The Bazhir were renowned for their ability with weapons, and she could only benefit from having one as her teacher. "Yes! Yes, please! Thank you, sir!"

"It's just Ali, actually. I'm glad you've accepted. Let's return to exercises, because there are some new ones I want to show you."

What Ali referred to as "tutoring" was actually merciless torture. Lessons lasted three hours and took place every morning, and she always left taking small, agonizing steps. To her credit, her flexibility and strength improved, and weighted weapons resulted in rapid memorization of moves and, eventually, extra energy. After a month, Ali added riding and different weapons, like knives and the battleaxe, to her training. Despite all the time she spent schooling, however, her discrepancy caused three entire months to pass before others finally discovered it.

One of the most conservative Bazhir in Persopolis, Hudhaytah Ahmed, intruded on their lesson one day just in time to watch Alanna execute a perfect fencing form that she had learned weeks before, and he and his friends proceeded to throw a fit about a girl being trained in the marial arts. Ali calmly challenged Hudhaytah's fifteen-year-old son to a fencing match against Alanna to prove her right to train. The boy declined in rage, believing it a question of his honor that he had to confirm his talent against a mere northern girl. Another man—an enemy of Hudhaytah's—jumped at a chance to brave something that the Ahmed family refused, and his son, instead, accepted the challenge.

Suddenly, Alanna found herself in a fencing ring with Lightning in front of some strange Bazhir boy. A crowd of Persopolis citizens crowded around her, bellowing loudly. She only confusedly glimpsed Ali motion for the match to begin, and it was not until the boy had his sword flying for her head that her reflexes kicked in. The following proved a short fight: in two minutes, she had disarmed him. Then, to save their friend's honor, four other boys demanded bouts. She beat them all but the last, who fortunately turned out to be a good sport and, laughing, shook her hand afterwards.

By April, Alanna had proved herself a worthy opponent and was regarded as one of Persopolis' best young warriors. Also that April, Jarinth announced she was leaving—without Alanna.

"Duke Gareth has called me up to Corus to help him with some trouble we've run into with Tusaine," Jarinth explained hurriedly to an aghast Alanna while cramming clothes into her suitcase. "Lord Martin is coming also, to request more troops from the king. You'll stay here with Ali because you'll have more to do—you'll be bored sick in Corus. I had to go great lengths to get Martin to let you stay here, so don't step one toe out of line, or his men will lock you in the cellar. Don't cause any more trouble than you already have, and don't kill anyone—including yourself." She dashed out to the courtyard, where a hostler waited with a saddled Bella. She quickly strapped her pack to the saddle and mounted before turning back to Alanna. "Please understand. I know this is short notice and I'm just running off without you, but I'll be back soon with Lord Martin, or, if not, I'll have someone bring you north."

Alanna nodded. "I understand." She didn't really—in fact, she felt somehow betrayed, getting left behind like this—but Jarinth was too stressed as it was and did not have to know.

And then Jarinth was galloping off with Lord Martin.

---

The second Wednesday evening after Jarinth's departure found Alanna in a small westward room, staring at the bright sun sinking sluggishly into far-off sand dunes.

"The Sunset Room," Ali sighed contentedly, lounging on a nest of ornate cushions. "My _favorite_ room."

Alanna had to agree with him. The Sunset Room proved the most fascinating place in Persopolis. Two pillars replaced the upper half of the wall facing outside, so a cool breeze accompanied the breathtaking sight of the sandy leagues stretching out before them. Inside, the walls, floor, and ceiling were blanketed in a bright masterpiece of mosaics depicting scenes of Bazhir history, especially a peculiar black city from one of the people's numerous legends.

"The Black City," Ali murmured. "You can see it, if you try hard, on the horizon—it's a small black dot. It's the history of the entire Bazhir race. Hundreds of years ago, in the time of the Old Ones, my people sailed here from the south—Carthak, we call it today. We found lush, rolling plains. Continuing north, we came upon a gorgeous palace built of marble and trimmed with countless precious stones. Inside we discovered ten beauties: gods, they called themselves. We know them now as the Nameless Ones. They welcomed and cared for us, asking us to farm the bountiful harvest there. So we farmed and were happy."

The air seemed to darken with Ali's voice. "But then, people began disappearing during the night. We set guards to watch, and we discovered that the ten beauties entered our villages and seeped like shadows into homes. When they came out, they looked fresher, more alive—radiant, like the sun. The houses they entered were found to be the ones who lost inhabitants. But there was no blood, not anything. There was not a single, simple sign of the slightest violence.

"The Nameless Ones were stealing our souls."

Ali sipped at his date wine and shrugged nonchalantly. "We, of course, rebelled. We attacked one day, setting their palace aflame, hoping it would disintegrate quickly so we'd never have to set eye on it again. Unfortunately, the Black City remains in its place, and the fields _around_ it disintegrated. We were left with the Great Southern Desert.

"And, as if to make matters worse, our children continued to disappear. Today, they disappear. They are called to the Black City, to be feasted upon as our ancestors were. That means our masters are still alive. If they consume enough of us, they will escape. So we built Persopolis to watch them. We will hold our vigil forever. At the moment, the Nameless Ones' spirits are trapped within the Black City by the ashes that ring it, since they fear fire. We await the arrival of the Night One and the Burning-Brightly One, who will truly set us free."

A thoughtful silence reigned over them for a few seconds, and then Ali ruined the moment as he groaned and hoisted himself to his feet. "Until that day, though, I'm off to bed, and I suggest you do the same. I got word earlier today from Lord Martin that he's arriving tomorrow with the troops. Jarinth is not with him—she's bogged down with work up at the palace." Alanna's face fell, and he sent her a consoling glance before continuing, "You'll return with Myles of Olau in about two weeks."

Alanna started. "Myles is coming tomorrow, too?"

"Didn't I tell you? His Majesty has sent the squires, including His Highness Prince Jonathan, with Myles to come study the Bazhir, since apparently they'll be fighting each other in the near future. There will be a celebration honoring their arrival tomorrow evening, and, yes, you are obliged to attend. They're going to want to see a civilized face among all the southern savages."

She stared at him, aghast, and then squeaked, "Does that mean I have to wear a dress?"

"I'd appreciate it if you did. We'll dig up one of Lord Martin's wife's. And it would also be very polite of you to give the squires a tour, so they can learn their way around."

She sighed, grudgingly agreeing that she had a duty as a northern lady to act the ambassador. "A dress and a tour. Dear gods, help me."

---

The next day at noon, Lord Martin returned with the king's troops and, as Ali had promised, Myles and the squires. The Prince, Raoul, and Gareth all agreed eagerly to a tour, and two other boys—the dark-skinned one quickly introduced as Alexander of Tirragen, and the small blond as Francis of Nond—simply grumbled sullenly, glowering at her. Alanna groaned inwardly: apparently, unlike their friends, they still clung to their old hatred of Trebonds.

The afternoon followed through with the tour, ending with the Sunset Room. Once inside, she could only laugh as their jaws dropped at the tiled walls.

"We heard nothing about _this_," Gareth murmured in awe. "Only the Black City."

"As for that—" Alanna leaned out the paneless window and squinted at the horizon. "There it is. That black speck, right in front of us—"

The boys all dashed to the window and almost simultaneously gasped.

"Have you told them the legend, Alanna?"

They turned to find Ali standing in the doorway, watching them with amusement.

"We've heard about the power there. It's strong and dangerous," Jonathan murmured as he continued to stare at the black speck.

"The Nameless Ones," Ali specified. "They haunt a grand portion of our legends, and my lord Martin calls them little more than foolishness, but even he will not go near the City."

"No sane man would," Jonathan agreed. "The Bazhir seem to have so much wisdom in their legends. _I _would learn everything I could from them. It's a pity there's not a manuscript on their history. I would find it most fascinating."

Alanna watched curiously as a thoughtful expression fogged Ali's face. "There are many northerners who would not agree with you," he pointed out impassively.

"Many northerners will not be king someday, with half of his people living in an almost unknown culture."

"It takes great power to realize something like that. I will see if such a text could be written."

"I would be delighted to read it. Thank you."

Ali bowed politely and then turned to Alanna. "You need to go get dressed."

She nodded. "Well, Your Highness, my lords, I hope to see you again soon."

As if their moves were choreographed, the five of them turned and bowed simultaneously. She managed to jerk an awkward bow in reply, waved to Ali, and then bolted for her room.

The celebration that night was horribly eventless, and though she managed to stay awake for its entirety, she only just made it to her room and undressed before collapsing on her bed, fast asleep. She awoke two hours before dawn the next morning, completely refreshed, and decided to head out to the riding yard to warm up before Ali came out to torture her.

To her surprise, though the stable torches remained unlit, a man could clearly be heard saddling his mount. Confused, Alanna held up her hand and called upon her Gift to form a lamp. It illuminated none other than Prince Jonathan.

She stared at him in bewilderment. "Why—?"

Jonathan chuckled. "It's my job to rid the desert of its evil, and no one would allow me to go to the Black City—"

"The City!" Alanna gasped in horror. "Your Highness, you can't—"

He looked amused at her shock. "Who says I can't?"

"_I_ do," she hissed. "If you go, you'll die. You should know that. Tortall can't have that."

"My cousin is perfectly capable of succeeding my father—" he began.

Throwing protocol to the wind, she interrupted, "Screw your cousin! If you get yourself killed now, there will be no talking the Bazhir out of their idea that northerners are conceited pigs."

Alanna winced as Jonathan stiffened, but he shocked her by murmuring quietly, "So what, precisely, do you suggest I do? I'll be their king someday. I won't be able to sleep peacefully in my featherbed back at home knowing children are in so much danger here. Ali told us last night after you left that they are still hypnotized by the Nameless Ones and either lose their souls or go mad and die. I can't allow that to continue. They're _my people_, Alanna. I have to stop that which destroys them. There's a mystery there, and I'm going to find it. It's my job."

Alanna's mind raced. She would not be able to talk him out of going, and there was no time to fetch help to hold him back. "Fine," she snapped. "Then take me with you. It's much more likely two will go and come out than one."

Surprisingly, Jonathan smiled. "I was hoping you would see reason. Now let's get going. We've wasted enough time here."

Alanna quickly saddled Moonlight, thanking the gods she had been planning to practice fencing that morning, so Lightning was already clipped to her belt. Then they set off down the road together, bribing the keeper to let them through the city gates. After that, they felt civilization drop away as they struck out into the desert.


	12. The Black City

CHAPTER 12: The Black City

The smooth, black stone of the City gleamed brightly in the early morning sun. Sharp needle towers stabbed at the blue sky, and small, pointed houses squeezed together along neat roads. High walls surrounded them with only one opening: an empty doorway facing east. It all appeared to have been carved out of a single boulder just a day earlier, because no cracks or layers of dust scarred the shiny stone. It was completely perfect, from the tallest turret to the most intricate of carvings on the walls. Alanna tried hard to keep from looking at those carvings: they depicted irritating pictures of birds with sharp teeth and human heads and chests, winged horses with talons, and other distorted creatures. And, then, suddenly, she froze.

"Highness!" she breathed fervently. "Highness, I've seen this before!"

"What?" Jonathan asked, absent-minded as he traced his fingers over the carvings.

"In a fire—I was scrying—back in Corus, after Thom died, there was this black city. I didn't know it at the time, but this must be it—yes, it has to be—Highness, I'm supposed to be here!" The discovery both terrified and exhilarated her.

"Good. That means there's something here," he whispered.

Alanna blinked at him. "Well of course there's something here. So many children have been called here—"

"Alanna," he murmured slowly, "do you see any trace whatsoever of those children? They could have just run away to some city. But there's something powerful here. Can't you feel it?"

She had been trying not to notice that part of the City. Jonathan was right: a feeling—a strong and bad feeling—hummed in the air. Something dark hid among these houses, reeking of incredible power and savage danger.

Alanna swallowed. Suddenly, the Black City was more than just a part of a legend. Now, it was petrifying reality.

Slowly, they ventured forward, until, all of a sudden, they reached the town's central square, gigantic and made of stone that did not reflect light. At the center stood a towering black stone building with great pillars lining the walls and huge double doors wide open at the head of a massive staircase. The gold carving just below the slightly-slanted roof was the only color in the entire City. The building sang, beckoning.

Some part of Alanna that she couldn't control didn't care about the eeriness. She watched in horror as her feet stepped over the huge pit-like ground and then mounted the great stairs. She felt herself shrink with every step.

"A temple," Jonathan deducted calmly.

"Highness?" she murmured shakily.

"Is your sword in your hand, Alanna?" he replied without looking at her. He was already holding his own blade.

Shocked that it wasn't already, Alanna slammed her hand to her hilt, and gasped. "Highness," she whispered frantically.

"What?" He was only half concentrating on the conversation as he continued to climb, just a few stairs ahead of her.

"Lightning—my sword—she's humming!"

"What?"

"My sword. My blade, Highness. She's like a bee—she's humming!"

For a mere second, Jonathan paused to glance back at her, and then continued his journey up. "Get ready, Alanna. Whatever we're here to face, we're about to face it."

Without any windows, the temple should have been dark inside, but still a sickly green light emanated from a thin fog that, when inhaled, made Alanna's head spin. The light rippled along the glassy walls until a black shadow of an altar swallowed it at the end of the chamber.

Suddenly, a silent flash of lightening blinded Alanna. Blinking rapidly, she slowly made out ten men and women towering above her even as they relaxed in front of the altar. Their silence as they grinned uncannily was deafening. Alanna gulped. The smallest woman was twice her height, and they were all so terribly beautiful that it hurt to look at them for too long. The amount of yellow-green power that radiated around them would have left Jarinth cowering. One of them alone could easily crush Alanna and Jonathan.

Jonathan stepped stubbornly forward. "Who are you?" he demanded with such authority Alanna gaped at him.

The ten beings, though, just laughed. "It _speaks_!" mocked a woman in a long, red dress. "The princeling has no fear of us. His father's soldiers will protect him!"

"The 'princeling' has no fear because there's nothing to be scared _of_. I have no need of my father's soldiers. I'll leave on my own," Jonathan shot back regally.

"Oh, now, _that's_ not very nice," another woman with long, red claws purred playfully. "In not inviting those great men, you would be denying us a great meal, you know. And princes are _supposed_ to be hospitable."

"But don't _worry_!" a woman with hair a blinding white cried cheerfully. "You two will be feast enough."

As if on cue, all ten took a terrifying step forward. Alanna felt as if that one step had covered half the distance between them.

"Any ideas?" she hissed at Jonathan, squeezing Lightning's hilt with a white-knuckled fist.

"Yeah," he muttered back. "Get your sword out."

Alanna did not hesitate a moment and swept Lightning from her sheathe. Suddenly, a brilliant light flashed, and the Nameless Ones leapt back to their altar, cowering under the glare of her blade. They looked furious.

"_So_," the red-dressed one sneered. "You come with a weapon of the _Old Ones_. Well, it won't help you now. In case you haven't noticed, we've outlasted them. We are stronger than they are. We are Ysandir and will reign forever."

Alanna, glowering defiantly, had hardly opened her mouth to snap a response when the woman with red claws burst into laughter. The sound was like nails screeching across a blackboard. Alanna fought to keep from dropping her sword and covering her ears to block the earsplitting din out.

"Ylanda?" asked a broad-shouldered man with a handsome black beard who overshadowed even the other Ysandir.

"A _girl_!" she—Ylanda—choked out. "A _girl_! Not only does the princeling have a _mortal_ sword, but the one with the weapon that could actually _do_ something is a _girl_!"

As Alanna's face turned a deep red, the other Ysandir shrieked with laughter too, inattentive as Jonathan slipped his hand into Alanna's.

"Being a girl will make them less wary of you. That's an advantage. Now, as long as we're connected, our power is combined. _Do not let go of my hand_. And keep your sword up. Mine, apparently, won't be of any help against them."

Alanna swallowed and nodded shakily. By then, the Ysandir had stopped laughing, but Ylanda's lips were still curved in an evil smile.

"Your lives are very interesting, Alanna of Trebond. I particularly like the one where you trade places with your brother and manage to win your shield. That was most certainly the path you were _supposed_ to take. Become the first lady knight of the realm in a century, kill the King's worst enemy, become the King's Champion. Tell me, girlie, did you truly make it through those years training in the palace on your own, or did your princeling do half the work for you? I wouldn't be surprised if he did. You spent enough time with him—in his _bed_!"

Alanna couldn't help but openly gape at them.

The woman in the red dress noticed. "But you don't know what Ylanda is talking about, do you?" she mocked. "It just goes to show, even when _Her_ hand is on you, things don't go very well. Look at you. You should be a page right now, but instead, you're here, standing in a burnoose with your princeling."

"I don't understand," Alanna whispered. "_Whose_ hand is on me?"

Ylanda threw her head back and shrieked with laughter. "You don't know!" she cried. "You don't know when your own goddess's hand leads you along a chosen path! Well, don't worry! You don't need to know. After today, you don't need _anything_."

And again the Ysandir swept towards them.

But Alanna would have none of it. Yelling in fury, she swung Lightning up in front of her, as if the small sword equaled a stone wall. "Getting us won't be as easy as you'd like. You'll have to go through Lightning first."

The broad-shouldered man smiled. "Fine. We'll start with the princeling. That way you will know you failed before you die."

"Alanna, we need a wall! They're going to attack us!" Jonathan hissed.

Alanna had not missed this detail. Already Ylira was raising an arm to throw her power at them. Alanna slammed up a shield of violet magic just in time to reflect a ball of yellow-green fire and send it ricocheting off the walls. It collided with a slender brunette, slammed her against the back wall, and burst. A light flashed and the brunette vanished, leaving only her anguished scream to echo through the air.

"Wow," Jonathan murmured, reinforcing the wall with his own magic. "I'm impressed."

Alanna, though, hardly heard him. She stared at the empty space where the brunette had been and then barked a laugh. "So you _can_ die!" she cried triumphantly.

"Don't be so sure," Ylira, whose eyes blazed with fury, snapped.

Alanna's eyes widened as three others—two women and a man—linked hands and started chanting. In the middle of their triangle, another ball grew, already twice as large as the one Ylira had thrown.

"Highness, we'll never be strong enough to stop something that size."

"Hold on!" he whispered back. "I'm trying to remember what the _Chaos_ the Ysandir hate. Ali said it yesterday but—"

"Ysandir are terrified of _fire_, but I don't know how to set flame to a spirit!"

Suddenly Jonathan bellowed a verse that sounded suspiciously like a child's rhyme. However, it seemed to work because the three Ysandir subsequently burst into flame like parchment dumped in a cackling fire. Their screams were louder, longer, and more painful than the brunette's, but, in seconds, they had vanished too.

"Four down, six to go," Jonathan gasped, wiping sweat from his face.

"Please don't say that," she begged.

Alanna stretched out the arm holding Lightning. Loosening her grip on the hilt, she steadied it with her thumb and shot her Gift out of the other four fingers. The violet fog swarmed around a red-headed woman's face; shocked, she opened her mouth to scream and choked as the fog seeped beyond her lips and down her throat. She suffocated silently, clawing in vain at her face until she died. A man beside her who had reached over to help was less quiet as the fog jumped onto him and consumed his body.

A glance at the remaining Ysandir came as a surprise: Ylira didn't even have time to shriek before her head was swept off by a sapphire blade floating in the air, wielded by an invisible hand. Ylanda and the broad-shouldered man stood back against the altar, watching with hatred blazing in their eyes as the others perished.

"I've only seen seven killed. Where's the other?" Alanna panted fearfully.

"I stabbed him in the heart," Jonathan told her matter-of-factly.

Alanna decided to accept that without questioning. "You have to teach me that sword thing. I like it."

"Actually, I just kind of came up with it a few seconds ago. I'm not entirely sure how I did it, and I'm not exactly as strong as I was before I did it."

"Oh, well, it was pretty nice."

"Thanks."

"_Ak-hoft_!"

Alanna and Jonathan both jumped as the wall around them vanished, and they stared at the two remaining Ysandir with wide eyes.

"You're talented," Ylanda said coolly. "You're powerful. It is clear. But you are also conceited. You are too sure of yourselves. You believe that because you have managed to kill the young and weak and greedy, you can kill us too. It isn't so. Ylon and I were here before any of them. We are the most powerful, the most prudent. When we are defied, we punish. And you have defied us. You mortals don't stand a chance. We are gods."

"No you're not," Alanna shot back tartly. "Gods don't die."

"_Mortals_," Ylon sneered. "All-knowing, you believe. It's not true. Even gods die when they weaken, but we are still in our full power. _You_ are about to drop dead from sheer exhaustion. You don't fool us. You just wasted a great amount of power on a few nothings. You are weak and foolhardy. You have no chance against us."

He and Ylanda raised their linked hands into the air and began to chant in an old language that Alanna didn't understand at all. A bright sphere began to take shape before them. It grew faster than any power from the others. Outside, thunder boomed and, suddenly, the only light left in the temple came from the glowing ball of fire.

"You have abused your lifetime," Jonathan bellowed furiously. "You no longer belong here!" He glanced at Alanna. "We need help. We can't face them alone."

She stared at him. "Highness, what are you asking?"

"They say the hand of the Goddess is on you. They wouldn't tell you a thing like that unless it's true. Call the Mother for help. She can't abandon you at a time like this."

Alanna shuddered at the very idea. The _Goddess_?

_It's the only chance we have_, she thought wryly. _It's either Her or death_. She swallowed and closed her eyes. Jarinth had said that communication with the gods was possible even without the Gift, though magic made it easier. She glanced down at her and Jonathan's linked hands. They were glowing a soft mix of violet and blue. All she had to do was concentrate on it, allow it to fill her. Already it was growing, encircling her and Jonathan.

"Great Mother Goddess," a woman recited. Alanna's serenity with her Gift kept her from panicking at the adult voice that had just come from her mouth.

"Dark Lady," a deep-voiced man joined her. This voice sounded terribly familiar, though she was sure she had never heard it before.

"Open the way for us," the adults chorused.

White hot pains lanced through their hands and raked through their bodies as Ylanda and Ylon tried to separate them. However, Jonathan worked furiously at building a shield, and as it strengthened, it blocked more and more of the Ysandir's magic.

Suddenly, a voice broke into Alanna's mind, making her gasp. It was a painful, powerful voice that reflected the entire world. Babies screamed, animals howled, trees angrily thrashed their branches, and behind it all, a horrible wind shrieked like it would never stop...

_Place your trust in the sword—and fight._

Alanna shuddered as the voice died away again, and then looked down at Lightning.

She glanced at Jonathan, who returned her gaze evenly. "I'm not going to let go of you, no matter how much I'm in the way. Good luck," he told her.

She nodded, swallowed again, and then thrust Lightning out of the globe. Ylon, armed with his own black, two-edged blade, roared and slammed his sword down. She skirted the strike and, before Ylon could get his sword up, swung for his head. He dodged, then charged in instantly afterwards. His blows fell hard and swiftly but with very little technique. Attacking him proved almost easier than fencing Persopolis' giants. Only Jonathan clinging to her hand kept her from moving about and sliding to a good place to strike. She could only be thankful that Ylon had the same disadvantage with Ylanda on his left hand.

Concentrating fully on the fight and leaving Jonathan to mutter incoherent words of magic, Alanna did not take long to find an opening. With a yell to add strength, she lunged in and up, slamming her sword against Ylon's just above the hilt. The two-edged blade shattered. She slashed at his and Ylanda's linked hands and then jumped back as Jonathan bellowed an indistinct, obviously powerful word. Suddenly, waves of blue and violet swept over the Ysandir, drowning them in magic. Their screams were the last thing Alanna heard before she hit the ground in complete darkness.


	13. Friends

CHAPTER 13: Friends

Alanna blinked drowsily at the ceiling. It was very boring, all black and smooth. She groaned and rolled over. Every muscle in her body screamed. She glanced to her side, where Jonathan was also coming to. She watched, smiling wryly, as he moaned and dragged himself to his knees. On spotting her, he tried a small smile. "That was interesting."

"Tell me about it," she agreed and struggled to stand. He beat her to it and then helped her up before stumbling over to where Lightning lay, its tip blackened.

"It's still warm," Jonathan gasped in wonder.

A thorough inspection showed the sword unharmed, as the blackened point disappeared with a vigorous rubbing, and Alanna sheathed it with pride.

Jonathan laughed lightly. "Come on. Let's get out of here." Leaning on each other for support, they stumbled out of the City, where they could breathe clean, light air.

The horses, tethered to a large boulder, waited patiently for their riders. Their wet saddles betrayed an earlier rainfall. Alanna frowned. Now that she thought about it, she dimly remembered thunder booming while they were in the temple.

"I don't think we have time to head back to Persopolis," Jonathan remarked. "It's already dusk."

"Wow," she breathed. "It didn't seem like we were in there for that long. There's an oasis over there." She flopped her hand in the general eastern direction.

Jonathan nodded. "Let's go."

It took less than a half hour to reach the oasis. That time, though, was more than enough for the day's events to catch up to them. Numbly, they tied their mounts near a lush spot of grass before collapsing under a tree to stare silently up at the darkening sky.

Finally, Alanna couldn't take the silence anymore. "I like your horse," she commented abruptly.

Jonathan laughed. "I can only thank you for that. I saw you riding Moonlight last year and asked Stefan Groomsman where you had gotten her, and he gave me directions to George Cooper, who brought me straight to Darkness. And then it was love at first sight—but you know all about that kind of thing, I suppose, with Moonlight, who is, by the way, an amazing mount."

"You honor me, Your Highness."

"I wish you'd stop doing that," he sighed.

"Doing what?"

"Calling me 'Your Highness.' It's very annoying. My name is Jonathan. 'Jon' is even better."

She ran her fingers through her hair, hesitating. "People would talk," she murmured.

"I suppose that would be different than usual?"

"Squires Alexander and Francis would not approve."

"Alex and Francis are driving me crazy about you," he spat. "They still seem to think you're Thom. But you're not! I admit, I thought you were before that one dinner, and so did Gary. Raoul was the only one sure about you the whole time. But then we really heard you talk, and gods help us, you _weren't_ Thom! But Alex and Francis—they're getting on my nerves. They just _don't get it_—you're laughing. Why are you laughing?"

Alanna had to catch her breath from her giggles before replying, "You don't know how good it is to hear you say that. I feel the whole _city_ of Corus was out against any and all Trebonds after Thom lived there. It was just too crazy. It's great to know that you guys don't think that anymore."

"Oh, when you come back to Corus, you'll find that a lot of that has changed," Jonathan hurriedly assured her. "Everyone still thinks you're really unusual, but the whole Thom thing has almost totally died off. All except—" He stopped and turned onto his side to face her. "All except Ralon of Malven," he murmured.

"Oh, no, Your High—Jon, I really don't want to talk about him," she protested. "I've managed to forget all about him—"

"Well he hasn't forgotten about you. It's only a matter of time before he _kills_ you."

"How did you find out about this?" she demanded. "Does the whole palace know?"

"No. Gary was good enough to make us swear we wouldn't talk."

"'_Us_'? Who else knows?"

"Raoul. He reported to his uncle, Ralon's knight master."

"And?" she groaned.

Jonathan paused. "Alanna, there's something you have to understand. Lady Rowanna's father is very conservative and does not think very highly of you or Thom. He—he—he didn't exactly believe Raoul, or, at least, he didn't react to the news. In fact, he told Raoul to forget about it, unless it happens again. The problem was that there wasn't any _proof_. You were gone, and you hadn't said anything, and no one had seen any marks. Alanna, if you would just _say_ it happened—"

"No," Alanna replied flatly. "There isn't any proof anymore. The marks are gone. Besides, Ralon won't be abusive to his own wife."

"People thought Ralon wouldn't hit a _woman_. But he attacked you just because you're Thom's sister. What do you think he won't do to Thom's sister's friend?"

"Your—Jon, listen to me. There's nothing I can do about it anymore. If it happens again, I'll say something about it, I promise."

Jon sighed. "You're very stubborn, you know."

"I know."

Silence reigned for a good number of minutes before Jonathan finally murmured, "Alanna, I want to ask you about the Ysandir."

Alanna, who had been on verge of nodding off, rapidly blinked the sleep from her eyes. "I'm listening."

"They mentioned your alternate... _life_. They said it was the one you _should_ be... _living_ right now. What was that?"

Alanna had been wondering the same thing. She shook her head. "I have my ideas, but it kind of ties in with other things."

"Like what?"

How could she tell the Prince that she had had plans to go against his father's law and disguise as a boy to become a knight? "Er... listen, Jon: this is hard."

"Take your time. I'm in no hurry."

She grumbled something and then, buying time, hoisted herself half off the ground to lean against their tree. "Well... you have to promise not to tell."

"You have my word."

Then, piece by piece, she slowly confessed her former dream to become a knight. When she had finished, Jon was laughing.

"Wow! Father would have thrown a tantrum when he found out! That would have been great, though, training with you. I've seen you fight, and I've seen pages fight—Mithros, Alanna, you would have beat us all!"

Alanna laughed easily. "You flatter me, Jonathan."

"And she said you would have succeeded! And that... _you'd kill my father's worst enemy_? I wonder who that is. Well, I fully entrust you with that one. And you'd become my father's Champion. That's a bit tricky. Even if my father _did_ let you keep your shield—which he'd have to, if you had passed the Ordeal—I don't see him letting you be the King's Champion. Uncle Gareth is the King's Champion! And then..."

Alanna wondered if Jon could feel the heat from her blush. She knew by the way his voice trailed off that he hadn't forgotten what came next either. She wished she knew what was going on in his head just then.

"Do you think that part was true?" he asked casually. "About you and me?"

"No," she said flatly and then winced at the harshness in her voice.

"No?" Jonathan echoed as he sat up to lean against the tree too. It was impossible to read his voice.

"I have no interest in men, Jonathan, and I can't imagine myself in _anyone_'s bed while trying to earn my shield. Now, if you'd excuse me, I'd like to go bathe in that watering hole over there. You should get to sleep. We have a lecture from Martin to look forward to tomorrow."

As she rose, though, Jonathan caught her hand. She resisted the urge to jerk it free. Her heart was beating like a hammer in an anvil, and all she wanted just then was something cold to splash over her burning face.

"Then why do you think she said it?" he whispered.

"To unnerve us. It's harder to fight with those thoughts running through your head."

"I wasn't unnerved. And you fought fine."

Why couldn't he express some _emotion_ in that voice of his? "_I_ was unnerved," she told him firmly. "I was terribly unnerved." And then, not caring if it was rude or not, she tugged her hand from his. She wondered if he had felt how it was trembling.

As she walked away from him and towards the pond, she tried unsuccessfully to ignore the eyes drilling into her back.

---

The first thing Alanna noticed when she and Jon returned the next day was how the Bazhir completely avoided her. When she finally asked Ali about it, he explained softly, "The Bazhir have been suffering from the curse of the Nameless Ones for centuries, Alanna. Since the time of the Old Ones, we have waited with legends and prophecies and expectations for someone to help us. And now, two children—two _northern_ _children_, and one of them a girl—came and helped us. Yesterday at noon, when everyone was worrying about you two, we felt it when you freed us. Every Bazhir in the entire world felt it. Alanna, you _saved us_. We knew the Burning-Brightly One personally!"

"I'm not the Burning-Brightly One!" she protested in alarm.

"You try telling _them_ that. Every one of our legends that mentions the defeat of the Nameless Ones stresses the part about the two victors being the Burning-Brightly One and the Night One. Take a look at yourself and the Prince. The Bazhir aren't stupid. They can figure things out, even if you can't."

When she met with Jon to endure Martin's long and boring lecture, she was stunned. Jon's black hair was the perfect replica of a lightless night, and her own hair could have been a cackling fire without wood. Ali was right. Everyone was right. She was the Burning-Brightly One. Jon was the Night One. They were fulfillments of legends.

After the speech that had ended with the punishment of all freetime for the next two weeks being given up to Martin, they left his office to find Raoul and Gareth waiting for them.

"Oh, hello, my lords!" Alanna greeted in surprise.

"Oh, why, _hello_, Alanna, dearest," Raoul mimicked a lady's higher voice terribly. "My, isn't the weather simply _gorgeous_?"

"Oh come on," she protested his imitation. "What was that for?"

"You're so upright, Alanna!" Gareth cried. "Relax. It's not like we're going to bite your head off for not saying 'please,' you know. How often do you think _we_ say 'please'?"

"Erm—"

"Exactly," Jon butted in positively. "We don't—not around each other."

Alanna was confused. So they wanted her to be bad? "My Lord Gareth—" she began worriedly.

"Alanna!" he cried exasperatedly. "You don't get it! My name is _Gary_!"

Then it dawned on her: they wanted her to be informal and treat them like she did her convent friends. She frowned. She was being offered quite a few noblemen's informal names.

"Gary," he repeated, "or 'Hey You.' But none of this 'my Lord Gareth' stuff. I feel starched enough as it is."

"Oh but my lords—"

"That's it!" Gareth cried. "I _ban_ you from saying 'my lords' _until_ you call me 'Gary.'"

Alanna sighed. The were not going to give up. "Fine. _Gary_—" she cut herself off with a wince and shook her head. "Are you _sure_? I'm Alanna of Trebond, Thom's sister, strange demon Gift-aholic _girl_, no less. And you want me to call you 'Gary'?"

Gareth laughed and slung his arms around her and Jon's shoulders. "Alanna, you just got my cousin out of the deepest shit Uusoae could get him into. If I could ask anyone to call me 'Gary,' it'd be you."

Alanna ducked her head. "You overestimate me."

"Nonsense. You survived, didn't you? I can't be called 'my Lord Gareth' by someone who fights by my cousin's side and therefore _my_ side, can I? We're friends—aren't we?" He stopped in his tracks to peer down at her. "Aren't we?" he repeated.

Alanna hesitated, and then glanced up at him. "I'd like that," she murmured.

"Great," he cried jovially. "Then friends it is! And my name is?"

She paused and then announced clearly, "Gary."

"Good. Now what's _his_ name?" he asked, jerking his chin at Raoul.

When Alanna didn't reply immediately, Jon ordered simply, "Raoul, smack her."

With a yelp, Alanna leaped forward and away from Raoul's heavy hand, but a laughing Gary caught her around the waist as Raoul torturingly ruffled her hair. Alanna laughed and swatted him away.

"Fine then!" she surrendered. "Raoul!"

"Very good!" Gary congratulated. "And just in time, too. We're here."

"Here" was in front of Alanna's room. Trying not to show her unhappiness about leaving her new friends, she stepped away from them and towards her door.

"Get ready for lunch quickly, and we'll go eat together," Gary ordered.

She smiled. Without mentioning how the servants would talk, she obeyed.


	14. An Evil Sorcerer

CHAPTER 14: An Evil Sorcerer

Three weeks later, Alanna found herself back at the palace, in her bedroom, staring at Jarinth in horror. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and wrinkles bit deeply into her skin, giving her the sorry demeanor of an old, beaten woman. Her body was frail and pale. Alanna wondered if she was dying.

"I'm fine," Jarinth assured her quietly with a small, forced smile, her voice weak with exhaustion. "Just tired. Tell me about Persopolis—Myles says something happened."

Alanna groaned. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to tell you. I disobeyed your orders so badly." She told her about the Ysandir, apologizing profusely at the same time. She was in trouble now.

Afterwards, Jarinth nodded. "I'm not going to yell at you. You made the right choice, even if you did have to disobey my instructions. I trust you more, now, if anything, simply because I know you can make a good decision on your own."

Alanna glowed at the praise, but, before she could reply, someone knocked at the door. Outside in the hallway, a maid stood in front of a middle-aged woman with graying chestnut hair and a tall, muscular yet lean man who Alanna recognized immediately.

The King of Thieves was standing outside her palace room. _Oh shit_, she thought frantically.

"If my lady pleases," the maid murmured, curtsying. "It was requested that I bring Mildred Wilson and her nephew to Lady Jarinth here in your quarters."

"Oh, it's Mildred?" Jarinth called from behind her. "Let them in, Alanna. She's a friend of mine."

Confused and stunned, Alanna opened the door wider so the two visitors could slip in. The Rogue tugged the door from her hands and shut and locked it in one swift movement. Then, blue fire bloomed in the room's four corners and around the windows and doors. Alanna recognized the magic as shields against listeners—both physical and magical—outside the room. Alanna could do little more than stare at them blankly for a moment before murmuring nervously, "Jarinth, I'm confused."

Jarinth nodded. "I'm sure you are. Sit, and I'll explain. First off, Alanna, this is Eleni Cooper—" she indicated the strange woman "—George's mother. She specializes in healing. We call her Mildred when anyone else is around. Alanna, that—" she nodded to George "—is George."

Alanna nodded. "The King of Thieves."

The others nodded. "That's right," George agreed.

"Alanna, do you remember last year when we were going to eat with the royal family, and I told you to watch Lianne? Did you notice anything strange?"

Alanna cocked her head to one side, thinking, and then shrugged. "Strange? No. She was ill, yes, but she's always been ill. That's not strange."

"You remember a pale face and cough, I believe? What is the Queen, who has better access to every healer in Tortall than anyone else in the world, doing with a pale face and cough? Duke Baird, Tortall's chief healer, _dotes_ on her. Obviously, the Queen of Tortall doesn't fall and stay ill without a reason. She's being contaminated by someone's Gift."

"_What_? Oh, come on, Jarinth, no way. Her Majesty is sick because she has _always_ been sick. You taught me this yourself: no one can help you once your body has accepted weakness. You can't blame it on _contamination_. You have no _proof_. If someone's killing her with the Gift, why take so many years to do it? Why don't you follow the contamination back to the contaminator? Why—"

"Alanna, I know this is hard to take in, but you have to hear us out," Eleni suddenly interrupted. "I'll explain _everything_."

"But you haven't given me any reliable _proof—_" she began.

Eleni held up a hand to cut her off. "Just listen. First off, you have to swear to us that you will not tell _anyone_ about this. Not your friends, not your family, not _anyone_. And you can't discuss this with Jarinth, George, or I unless we clearly give you permission. Am I clear?"

Alanna rubbed her head, and then sighed. "Fine."

"Okay, firstly, we do have reason for suspicion. Every three years professionals check up on the palace to make sure it's working correctly. It happens to the palace's physical body—the stonework and all that—and the magical one. Well, this year they found the whole spell-strengthening charm gone. You know what that is, right?"

Alanna nodded. "It's a spell that's put over another to make it stronger. It's very hard to conjure and can be powerful and is always terribly expensive. It works, though. The one over the palace is supposed to be the largest and strongest ever known, strengthening all the protection spells over the entire place. And it's ancient. How—how could it be gone? That's impossible. No one could destroy it."

"No one destroyed it—they _used_ it. Two years ago, in March, a sickness struck Corus, and it was bad, hitting Her Majesty especially hard. We think that a mage sent the illness and strengthened it with the palace's strengthening spell. Healers couldn't heal it—we didn't tell anyone, though, in fear that they wouldn't believe us. What confuses us is that the sickness vanished after a week, and we don't know why. And recently, the mages discovered the lack of strengthening spells; their power probably ran dry when that sorcerer used them. That was when Duke Gareth called Jarinth up from Persopolis, so she and Duke Roger could get to work to figure out what happened—"

"Duke Roger?" Alanna gasped. "But he's one of the strongest mages in the world!" She swung around to gape at Jarinth. "You're working with one of the strongest mages alive?"

"Well, Jarinth's stronger than Roger in some aspects, being a black robe and all," Eleni pointed out.

Alanna reeled backwards. "_What_?" Though the University of Carthak was world-renown for its general academic standards, it was especially famous for training many of the world's strongest mages, eight of whom had reached the highest level of witchcraft possible and now wore the symbol of their rank: the black robe.

Eleni's eyes widened in horror, and she, too, swung around to Jarinth. "You haven't _told_ her?" she demanded.

Jarinth had taken a sudden fascination with the ceiling. "Apparently not," she replied crisply. To Alanna, she explained casually, "I graduated from the imperial university almost twenty years ago."

"Alanna, Jarinth is just as strong as Roger. If anything, _Roger_ should be intimidated by _Jarinth_, not the other way around."

Alanna frowned, side-glancing at Jarinth. For having just been announced strong and almighty, she still looked half dead. When she mentioned this, Eleni cut in firmly before Jarinth could have her say about her appearances, "And _that_ is where the _next_ part of our story comes in. Jarinth and Roger discovered someone's blood-colored Gift splattered all over the spells, chewing like acid through them. We can't follow the Gift back to its owner because the mage cut himself off from it. Now, Jarinth and Roger have to clean out that Gift, replace the ruined spells, and replace the strengthening spell, which is completely gone. And I'm depressing myself. George, could you continue, please?" Eleni leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, trying to relax.

"Although Duke Roger is helping a lot, he also spends much of his time teaching the Gifted pages and squires how to use their magic, so Jarinth gets the brunt of the work," George immediately took up calmly. "Jarinth and Roger have also been asked to help deal with Tusaine, who is looking to cause trouble for Tortall. Plus, she has recently found out that someone has created a doll of her."

Alanna blanched. "You mean, a wax doll, shaped to her appearance pefectly, that acts as the real person. What one does to it, one does to her."

"That's right. Jarinth has spent the last month holding the spell off, and it is the effects of _that_ that you see on her. Her Gift is now practically drained, and she is near powerless. After good food and a full night's rest, she has just enough strength to hold off the doll-charm and work on the palace spell repair for another day."

Alanna stared at Jarinth, scared. She didn't like Jarinth being powerless.

"Mages as strong as Jarinth can feel when a doll of them is being made. She doesn't know where the doll is, why it was made, who made it, how many other dolls there are with hers, or who else in this palace is acting under this spell. She is too weak to find out. When she is done with the palace and is more refreshed, though, she will be able to trace the doll-spell to the sorcerer who made it.

"Until then, however, she has a more important problem: the Queen. Two weeks ago, she was fine—or as fine as you can expect an ill woman of her age to be. Since then, she's been running a dangerously high fever that Duke Baird can't bring down, and she's been vomiting uncontrollably. Jarinth was allowed a moment with her for one of her few sane minutes—"

"Alanna, she's covered in the blood," Jarinth whispered shakily. "Even if I were up to my normal strength I wouldn't be able to help her, even with Roger's and Baird's help. The illness had seeped into her very bones. It ran in her veins almost more than her own blood did. Her body had _accepted_ it, as if it didn't realize it was killing her."

"The blood-colored Gift, right?" Alanna checked, just to be sure.

George nodded. "That's right."

Alanna sighed and shook her head. "I don't understand. No offense, George, but you're the _King of Thieves_. And we're using spells to guard us from listeners as if someone has his ear pressed to the door and—gods, how do I know that _you_ three aren't working for this evil sorcerer?" she demanded.

"That's why Eleni and George are here," Jarinth said simply.

"The listening-shield spells are here for a reason," George told her amiably. "Jarinth has found spells around her room that allow people miles away to hear what she has to say."

"You've found listening spells?" Alanna gasped in horror.

Jarinth nodded grimly. "And I contacted Eleni because she was one of the few people I knew who couldn't have a doll made of her—who knew Eleni? George tagged along because—"

"To protect my mother, of course," George joked, reaching over to squeeze his mother's hand. And then, more seriously, "Evil sorcerers affect my Court too. I can't have problems like this over my head, especially when it's so secret my spies know nothing of it." Then, he stood. "If that's all? There's someone coming down the hallway to see you."

"What?" Alanna asked quizzically, swinging around. The door was firmly shut, locked, and spelled. She didn't see anyone.

"George has the Sight, dear," Eleni explained, standing as the blue fire on the walls vanished.

George opened the door. "We'll see you two later."

They had only just left when someone knocked on the door again. Jarinth answered and then swung it open wider. In the hallway stood one of the most handsome men Alanna had ever laid eyes on. He was tall and muscular with broad shoulders that fit his tunic perfectly and limbs that moved as deftly as a professional swordsman's. His brown-black hair was thick and wavy, and a slight beard framed his face neatly. His eyes were a dazzling bright blue that accented his light skin elegantly. Even a girl like her—uninterested in boys to an extreme extent—had to admit he was a dream come true.

But he was overly charming. He was too dominant and sure of himself. His posture screamed that he was cute and he knew it, that he was well aware of what she had dreamed of last night, that he was all-powerful. It almost scared her to realize that she didn't like him, and she didn't even know his name.

"Alanna, Duke Roger. Roger, Alanna of Trebond, my student," Jarinth introduced cheerfully. "Why don't you come in? We were just about to go down to dinner, but we have time."

"Actually, I want to go work on the repairs. I feel as if I've been shirking my work lately. I was just wondering if you were going to meet with Gareth about Tusaine, in which case, I won't."

"Are you suggesting we trade Tusaine for the repairs, Roger? I accept gladly," Jarinth laughed.

"Perfect. Good evening, and nice to meet you, Lady Alanna." He smiled at her charmingly and bowed.

After a forced smile and gracious curtsy, Alanna watched his retreating back with narrowed eyes.

After shutting the door, Jarinth ducked into the dressroom to check her hair and called out, "Usually I eat with Roger's squire when Roger eats over his Gift-work, because Alex doesn't have the Gift and is given the night off. You may know Alex, actually. He's a friend of His Highness'. Alexander of Tirragen. Really nice boy and incredible swordsman."

Remembering Alex's former reaction to her, Alanna followed Jarinth out of the room wondering if the day could get any more exhausting.

Alex, however, greeted her with a friendly smile when she sat next to him. The first chance he got, he turned to her and said earnestly, "I want to apologize. I should be thankful you saved Jon's life and be happy Jon has as strong an ally as you. I was biased about you before I even met you because I knew your brother, but now I know better. I'd like to start over, if that's okay with you." He offered his hand to shake, watching her solemnly.

Alanna frowned, watching for a trick, and realized there was none. She took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. Friends, then." She shook his hand.

He smiled. "Good. By the way, I saw you fencing at Persopolis."

Alanna stared at him. It had taken the Bazhir three months to discover her, and then a newcomer found out in less than two weeks!

"Oh—don't worry. I haven't been stalking you, or anything. I was talking to Ali, actually. I just slipped down to see you because I wanted to see what you were like. You know what you're doing. You fence better than some pages your age, you know. I take private lessons with Duke Gareth—"

"Not your own knight-master?" she asked curiously.

"My lord is an excellent swordsman, of course, but I had started these lessons before he even arrived in Corus, so he allowed me to continue with them. But, anyway, I was wondering if you would like to join Duke Gareth and me for a lesson tomorrow morning. He suggested it himself."

Alanna's jaw dropped. Duke Gareth was renowned for his fencing skills. He wanted _her_ to take lessons from _him_? The very idea was unbelievable. She told Alex as much, and he just laughed and told her to be at the fencing court furthest east at dawn the next day.

After dinner, Alanna was stopped on the way to her room by Francis, who, like Alex, wanted to apologize for his obnoxiousness, though he said so quite nervously.

For all the day had been tiring, it had also proved quite rewarding.


	15. Rowanna of Disart

CHAPTER 15: Rowanna of Disart

The warm summer passed too quickly. Duke Gareth, surprised to see "a Trebond do something right for once," had laughed aloud as she correctly executed a new move and had eagerly invited her back for another lesson the next day. Afterwards, when Alex organized a match between her and Geoffrey of Meron, the best swordsman of the pages, she sent his blade flying and, in turn, befriended him and his squire friends, Douglass of Veldine and Sacherell of Wellam.

Meetings with Eleni and George took place once or twice a week, usually at Eleni's house and always guarded by listening-shield spells, which Alanna learned to create herself. During these rendezvous, Alanna learned the going-ons of the palace, including how the Queen's sudden illness had suddenly vanished again, simply leaving her the same, weak woman she had been before. Whenever someone asked just what she and Jarinth did for so long in town, though, she just replied they were seeing friends, which wasn't too far from the truth at all.

Duke Roger still made her skin crawl. Every night as she lay in bed, she told herself that the next day she would be charmed by the handsome duke, but every day another sighting of him brought a new wave of—what was it? Fear? Awe? Dislike? _Hate_? She didn't know. All she knew was that every time they were in the same room together, she had to set aside a part of her mind to concentrate fully on staying calm. He made her jittery, and it was for no reason at all.

---

One October morning found Alanna in her room, wrestling with a new spell Jarinth had taught her, when a servant arrived to announance that Rowanna of Disart had just arrived. Alanna burst out into the courtyard a minute later. Just yards away, with her back turned as she spoke to a hostler, stood her old best friend.

"Rowa!" she shrieked joyfully. Rowanna spun around just as Alanna threw herself into her arms. They both yelped and laughed, holding each other for long minutes. Alanna pulled away to see Rowanna's face, and gasped. Too-sophisticated face paint decorated her soft skin, and those usually laughing eyes had lost their shine.

"Alanna, we're already sending out invitations for the wedding," Rowanna whispered painfully.

Alanna stiffened as she remembered. Of course Rowanna looked like a grown woman: she _was_ grown. In just a few months, she would be married.

Married to Alanna's worst nightmare, Ralon of Malven.

"I guess I should wish you congratulations," she remarked dejectedly.

"I'd rather you didn't. I don't really want to think about how I'm supposed to be happy—"

"Lady Disart," a deep, sure, and painfully familiar voice interrupted her stonily.

Both girls jumped in surprise and glanced at the speaker, a tall, sandy-haired boy whose grand smile revealed disgustingly crooked teeth. Alanna inwardly groaned. Ralon of Malven, again.

Rowanna, however, curtsied graciously, offering Ralon her hand as a small, pleased smile touched her mouth. "My lord of Malven, what a pleasant surprise."

"I was only too willing to pull some strings to meet such a special lady. I wanted to make your arrival as comfortable as possible," he murmured smoothly, kissing her fingers. Then his eyes flicked to Alanna, and his face hardened. "But there is one rule I must immediately make clear, for your safety just as much as for your comfort." He pointed to Alanna. "_She_ is not to have any connection with you."

As Rowanna gasped in protest and dismay, Alanna's eyes flashed with anger, and she snapped, "You can't do that!"

"It is my right just as it is my duty," he replied coolly, his voice contorted with hatred. "You Trebonds are dangerous to the world, and I will _not_ have my lady seen within ten feet of you. Now, Lady Rowanna," he growled, trying to force the anger from his voice as he glared daggers at Alanna. He only succeeded in sounding stiff. "How would you like a tour of the palace?"

Alanna could do little more than stare, aghast and somehow lost, as her best friend and worst enemy walked away from her, arm in arm.

---

That afternoon, Alanna and Jarinth had another rendezvous with Eleni and George.

No sooner had Alanna started pouring tea than Jarinth announced glumly, "The blood spreads." She ignored Eleni's gasp and continued wearily, "An old spell with too little blood to notice crumbled this morning. The blood was released and floated around and got on everything. Now almost half of the spells we have already cleaned or created anew are bloody again."

Shocked silence stretched between them for mere seconds before Eleni suddenly slammed her hand on her table. "That's it. I'm sick of these morbid conversations. There's nothing we can do about them. Jarinth, you and I are going to stay here and do something that requires no thinking. George, you take Alanna and go do something fun, for once. We'll talk about this Chaos later."

"Yes, Mother," George replied amiably, stood, hugged Eleni, and then opened the door for Alanna. Together, they strolled outside, where he suggested, "What do you say to a drink at the Dove? It'd be on me, of course."

Knowing all too well what "the Dove" was, Alanna could not suppress a harsh bark of laughter. "George, don't play with me. I couldn't take a step into that place again. Your people hate me. I'd be little more than raw meat in seconds."

He shook his head firmly. "Not when you're with me. They wouldn't lay a finger on a friend of mine. No one will be there this time of day anyway."

"They were there the last time I went—"

"That's because they knew you were coming. The Dove was packed just because they wanted to see the young Trebond."

"No," she growled coolly, the memory making her irritable. "They wanted to see the young Trebond's _twin_."

"Wallowing in self-pity is not going to get you anywhere," George informed her easily.

"I'm not wallowing in self-pity!" she snapped, reddening. "I'm just—correcting you!"

"Alright, then, I stand corrected. Let's go drink now—I'm thirsty."

George led her to the old inn and held the door open so she could enter first. She felt him squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. Immediately, she felt better. Nothing could happen to her with George at her back. Standing straighter, she squared her shoulders and shoved her chin in the air before stepping further into the pub.

The room was nothing like she remembered. Except for the two maids and bartender chatting at the bar and three boulders of men lumped in the room's darkest corners, the place was empty. It seemed much more spacious, now, and almost cleaner and more orderly. On the other hand, it was still just as dim with only a few candles and the small, sparse windows providing any light.

George ordered ale for himself and lemonade for her, and they sat at the table in front of the fireplace. Soon the barmaids, Nellie and Gretta, and the bartender, Solom, joined the conversation. Then Marek Swiftknife, a brown-haired friend of George's, and Rispah, the Rogue's cousin, sauntered inside and grabbed their own seats. Alanna could only blink in surprise as they appeared out of the blue.

Initially, she worried someone would let slip a sudden, cruel comment that would just infuriate her. But not one nasty Trebond-joke came up. Quite the contrary, they all acted very cheery and polite. True, they at first watched her guardedly out of the corners of their eyes, but after she proved not to be the snobby noble they expected, most of the icy tension melted.

Alanna found she liked all of George's friends, though she was especially taken with Rispah. Though the woman showed a bit too much cleavage for perfect modesty and consistently nagged Alanna about the shocking rumors based on her and the Prince Jonathan, she proved two-faced. Because she was George's most trusted friend and closest relation besides his mother, he had made her the Queen of the Rogue, a woman with power. Even if she had been snotty and cruel, Alanna would have liked her.

A half an hour passed quickly, and Alanna protested when George announced that she had to return to Jarinth. He would not let her talk him out of it, though, and they headed back to Eleni's house. When they arrived at the gate, George announced he would leave her there, because he had errands to run.

"I had fun with you today, lass, and I have a feeling your reputation as 'Thom's twin' just went up in smoke."

"Thank the gods," she breathed. "Thank _you_."

He chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder. "Hey, if you need anything, check the Dove. If I'm not there, Solom will know where to find me. Drop down sometime for a drink and to talk if you have nothing better to do. I'll see you later, lass."

Watching him go, Alanna couldn't help but smile. She was still sore after losing Rowa, but George had a way of making everything seem alright. She liked that about him.

---

Close to midnight a month later, as Alanna trudged back to her room from the library, she found her door blocked by a very unexpected person. "_Rowanna_?" she gasped.

"Sh!" Rowanna, dressed in little more than a nightgown, a robe, and slippers, hissed. "Let me into your room!"

Alanna unlocked and threw open her door as quietly as possible, waved Rowanna in, and then silently shut and locked it behind her.

"What in Mithros' name are you _doing_ here?" Alanna cried breathlessly.

"Quiet!" Rowa snapped. "People might be listening!"

Alanna groaned and flung up listener-shields. At the same time, Rowanna slumped onto the bed with her face fallen despairingly into her hands.

"Rowa, what's wrong?" Alanna murmured, sitting down next to her friend and gathering her in her arms.

"I'm sorry if this is bad timing or if I get you into trouble—"

"Oh, none of that," Alanna interrupted flatly. "What ticks me off is that we haven't tried this before."

"I've been wanting to, but I never know how Ralon was watching me. The other night, he came into my room—"

Alanna froze. "Ralon came into your room? Is he allowed to do that?"

"Usually he's not that stupid, but that night—Alanna, he was _drunk_! He tried to get me into bed with him—I wouldn't—he was so angry. He hit me. Not hard enough to bruise, but it still hurt. Finally he left, and I knew I had to see you. I—"

"You should report him, Rowa," Alanna told her quietly, not permitting the reeling of her mind to show in her voice. He hit her!

"I should," she agreed bitterly, "but I won't. Malven is very powerful in Court, and the point that he's the man already sets him above me. He would win, and then the case would die. What's more, my grandmother would not thank me for shattering an alliance with him. She's been trying for decades to get Malven blood into the family."

Alanna knew this. Rowanna's family would do anything for Malven blood because the house of Malven was old, rich, and powerful, and a Malven-Disart child was as good as royalty.

"So you finally just came? What if he notices you're gone? Don't you have a maid who will notice you're gone?"

"Well, when he came in a couple of nights ago, my maid ran out. Then, the next day, I—I got drugs, because I knew I had to see you. I drugged my maid tonight, and then—oh, Alanna! He came in again! And I, of course, said no again, and—and he hit me again, and he finally collapsed on my bed. He'll be out cold for ages—I've seen him do it before. So I came, because I wanted to see you, and because—well, I hate to ask you, but you're a healer, and I hurt so badly—"

Alanna shoved back one of Rowanna's satin sleeves, and a furious growl arose deep from her throat. Black and blue splotches dotted her wrist like spilled ink. With a stiff tenderness, Alanna slid her fingers over the damaged skin and healed her best friend from her future husband's lack of humanity. Once finished, she worked on the other wrist, and then on a long, narrow, ghastly bruise on her back where Ralon had struck her with the handle of a broom. Then, she stood back and snapped, "This is ridiculous! You should _not_ be putting up with this!"

"Please don't, Alanna," Rowanna pleaded quietly. "Unless he or I die, nothing is happening to that marriage."

"But what about _self-defense_?" she cried pleadingly. "What happened to what Kevin taught us?"

"_Please_, Alanna!" Rowanna shouted, jumping up to stare out the window. "If I could use it, I would. I'm not stupid. But I can't, so I don't."

"Why can't you?"

Rowanna—temperless, silver-tongued Rowanna—swore and spun around to glare with eyes streaming tears and bellow with a choked voice, "Why do you _think_, Alanna? It isn't that hard to figure out! It's been three damn years, and I have hardly practiced ten minutes in a row in all that time! Because it's apparently too much for you to process in that thick head of yours, I'll just say it out loud: _I don't remember_. I don't remember _anything_. I can't even do ten pumps in less than thirty seconds! I'm sorry, Alanna, but I can't." Suddenly, her voice was very quiet as she confessed, "I would love at least to carry a dagger or run through one of our smallest hand-to-hand combat forms, Alanna, but I don't remember anything about them."

Alanna blinked. Daggers and hand-to-hand combat—her two worst areas. But a special someone in town had remarkable talent with both. She bit her lip, and then shot a quick glance up and down Rowanna. She was dressed in one of her lovely, simple day gowns, but magic could easily make a pair of Alanna's breeches longer….


	16. To Fight

CHAPTER 16: To Fight

Alanna had visited the Dancing Dove twice before, both times accompanied by someone she trusted not to lead her astray. Now, if she wasn't astray, she didn't know what she was.

The pub was smoky, crowded, and loud. People chatted, laughed, roared, and all in all were utterly chaotic. Alanna swallowed, and then nodded. "Okay."

"Alanna?" Rowanna whispered timidly. Alanna glanced over her shoulder at her friend, who looked elegant even in breeches and a pony-tail. She clung with a painfully strong grip to Alanna's hand as if the punishment for letting go were death. "I do _not_ think we should be doing this."

"Oh, don't worry. Everything will be fine." Biting her lip, she plowed into the crowd, dragging Rowanna behind her, to George's table in front of the fireplace, where he played cards with other thieves.

George glanced up at their arrival and grinned. "Alanna, I was wondering when you were going to pay us a visit! Who's your friend?"

Alanna tugged Rowanna—who stood just a step behind her, out of the spotlight—forward next to her and ignored the dark glower she received. "This is Rowanna. She's a friend of mine."

George nodded a greeting. "What brings you two down here tonight?"

"Actually, we were wondering if we could have a word with you," Alanna responded earnestly. Her eyes flitted over the other thieves, and she added, "Privately, if it's not too much to ask."

The expression that passed over George's face was peculiar—wary, in its own way. He nodded and stood up, calling to the bartender, "Solom! We're not to be disturbed."

A trip up a narrow staircase and down a hall led to his door. Unlocking it, he stepped inside and inspected the dark corners of the room before allowing them to follow. The chief furniture was simple and innumerable, but smaller objects like silver candleholders and a gold-framed mirror made an ignorant guest think twice of George's humble life.

Rowanna spotted the suspicious objects, and she stared at them, frowning. "You have very... _original_ tastes, sir—"

"George," he interrupted, smiling ruefully. "It's just George. Apparently Alanna didn't tell you much about me before she brought you." He leaned on a wall, watching them carefully.

"Actually, she didn't tell me much of anything at all, did she, _Alanna_?"

"I wasn't sure I could!" Alanna cried. She turned to George pleadingly to ask, "May I tell her? Please?"

He shrugged. "If you think she can keep quiet about it, you can tell her anything you want."

"Oh, she'll keep quiet. Rowa, this is George Cooper—"

"The _King of the Thieves_?" Rowanna gasped. She squinted at George's face. "I recognize your name. I've seen it in so many books. The pictures don't do you justice. Forgive me for not recognizing you earlier. I should've." She paused, and then continued, "I'm honored to meet you, just to let you know."

George raised his eyebrows. "Are you, now? How can you be so sure?"

She shrugged. "You're a king—better than even King Roald. I've heard of you and how your people respond to your orders. Why _shouldn't_ I be honored?"

George chuckled and bowed his head. "I thank you. But, tell me, lass," he asked Alanna, "what do you want to talk about? I know you well enough to know you're not going to ask me to knife your dearest Malven. You fight your own battles. So what do you need?"

Alanna smiled. George did know her well. "Well, you're right in thinking I want a favor. Rowanna—" she glanced over at her friend, who shook her head firmly: Alanna could not say a word about Ralon. She fell silent, wondering how to voice her request.

"If it helps any, I should tell you I know about Ralon," George offered gently. "I have eyes and ears in the palace—I know what happened tonight. He got drunk; he hit her. I also know about the drugs for the maid. Skip that part, if you need to, and just tell me what you need.

_Will I ever be able to hide something from him?_ Alanna thought wryly. "I want you to teach Rowanna to defend herself." She ignored Rowanna's astonished gasp, and continued, "Once they're married, he'll beat her whenever he wants, and she won't be able to sneak away. She needs to know how to ward off the worst blows, and you're the only one I trust to teach her."

"Why don't you?" George asked emotionlessly.

Alanna barked a laugh. "I'm terrible at wrestling and daggers, but I know you're brilliant at them. She'd learn so much more from you." She took a deep breath, and then added, "Please."

George watched her impassively even after she finished, and then turned to Rowanna. "Would you like to learn?"

"I don't want to force you to do anything—" Rowanna began, but her true feelings were apparent in her voice.

George smiled and stood straight from his perch on the wall. "We'll start tonight. Alanna? Care to join us?"

"Actually, I'm really bad at—"

Rowanna laughed, hopping out of her chair. "Oh, give it up, Alanna. You don't really think I'd let you sit and _watch_ me do this, do you? Come on, up you get! It'll be just like old times!"

Alanna glared at her. "You are really depressing; you know that, don't you?"

George could do nothing but shake his head in wonder at them. "Alright, ladies—boots off. We'll start with stretches."

---

December descended upon Alanna with unbelievable speed, and with it came more tension than she thought possible. She and Rowanna met about four nights a week with George for lessons. The other three nights were also spent down at the Dancing Dove, just without Rowanna, who was busier than Alanna believed entirely healthy. Instead, she introduced Raoul, Gary, and Jon to the thieves (who had become fast, excellent friends) and was overjoyed to find that the noblemen and commoners interacted beautifully, however stiffly at first. Alanna refused to introduce Alex, Francis, and the younger boys yet, as she wasn't entirely sure they were completely trustworthy.

Jarinth grew more and more annoying with each passing day. She was tired, crabby, and trying to accomplish far too much at one time. The palace repairs, holding off the doll, a growing threat from Tusaine, and teaching Alanna were truly wearing her down, yet she refused to accept Alanna's help. Myles said she had always been that way—killing herself through multitasking—and would probably soon learn her lesson when she became bed-ridden by a stress-provoked illness.

But, above all, the air grew thick with anxiety as Midwinter approached and, with it, the Ordeals of Knighthood. The Ordeal was the final test for squires of their capability to handle knighthood. For every night of Midwinter, an eighteen-year-old squire (or, in the Crown Prince's case, a seventeen-year-old squire) would take a ritual purifying bath while two knights instructed him—or, a hundred years ago, _her_—in the Code of Chivalry. Then, dressed in white, he would hold vigil in the Chapel of the Ordeal for an entire night without making a sound. The following dawn, the squire entered the Chamber of the Ordeal, a chamber just off the Chapel, where Mithros, the Sun God, would force the boy to face his worst flaws. If the squire could silently manage this, he left the Chamber and was knighted that evening. If not, he died.

Jon, Raoul, Gary, Francis, Alex, and Ralon were all entering the Chamber that winter.

To Alanna's relief, the first five passed quickly and faultlessly. In the end, they were alive and in one piece, though pale-faced and beaten. Alanna could have cried. Myles did cry.

And then it was Ralon's turn. Alanna and Rowanna spent the night together at the palace and then, at dawn, headed down to the Chapel to wait for Ralon to exit the Chamber. Though Alanna had the tact not to say it aloud, she couldn't help but think all night how if the Chamber had any sense at all, Ralon wouldn't live to see what the inside of the Chamber looked like.

To her surprise and dismay, though, Ralon stood alive and well in front of the Chamber door when she arrived. In fact, he was completely unscathed. And he was angry, bellowing at a clueless priest. Judging by the buzz of voices that filled the Chapel, Alanna was not the only one curious as to why it seemed Ralon had not entered the Chamber at all.

She glanced over her shoulder to ask Rowa, just to find her friend a few yards away, speaking with another priest. Then, she returned quickly to Alanna.

"The Chamber refuses to open for him, apparently," she explained quizzically. "No one seems to know why."

"Oh," Alanna sighed regretfully. "I guess that means he's not going to die."

"I'm going to talk to him," Rowanna said determinedly. "Grandmother Sebila will be angry if I don't." She turned away and called to Ralon, struggling through the crowd of priests.

Ralon looked up and spotted Rowa. Too late, Alanna remembered to duck. Ralon had seen her almost side-by-side his fiancée. She froze.

Ralon didn't. Livid, he swept through the crowd, knocking priests right and left, and was in front of Rowanna in seconds, where he slapped her.

A roaring filled Alanna's ears like she had never heard before. "Ralon of Malven, you _dare_—" she shrieked, leaping at him.

Subconsciously, she noted the wide-eyed priests surrounding them, and decided there was not enough space here to beat up this goat-herder's son to a pulp. Slamming her elbow across his face to daze him, she shoved him towards the doors of the Chapel. He stumbled and fell out into the hall, swearing violently. Alanna stormed after him and proceeded to smash his face in. He, however, grabbed her arm and twisted it, winning a shriek from her. She slammed her foot out to meet with a tender spot below his knee, and he fell, but not before grabbing a fistful of her skirts—which tore—and pulling her down too. He rolled over on top of her and pounded the right side of her face twice as he held her down by the throat with his left hand. Her head on verge of splitting open with pain, Alanna kneed him in the groin and shoved his writhing body off her.

She scrambled to her feet, gasping for breath. Her eye was already swelling shut, and she could feel blood trickling from her nose and into her mouth. It tasted terrible. She hurt badly.

Ralon was back on his feet. They faced each other furiously like two savage animals. Alanna did not have to think very hard to see who had the upper hand in this fight. He was bigger, stronger, and had already suffered fewer injuries than she had. She was panting heavily; he wasn't.

"Damn you, bitch," he snarled, lunging for her.

She skipped back, but he still managed to slam her into the wall. She yelped as her head hit stone. She hurt; she hurt; she hurt; she hurt!

He was off balance, and she took the chance to grab his head by the hair and slam his face into the wall. A sickening crunch and a roar from him as he crumpled to the ground covering his nose told the tale of something breaking.

The sight of the blood pouring onto his hands reminded Alanna of another battered person she knew. She looked up and saw Rowanna watching her, horrified, from the doorway of the Chapel.

Suddenly, Alanna felt filthy. She looked down at her hands, which were shaking with fury. They were as bad as Ralon's. They smacked and bruised without a thought, as if pain were a game. With her one good eye, Alanna looked past her hands at Ralon, who sat, curled up, crying, and glaring at her from the ground. How could she have _done_ such a thing? She stumbled back, and turned around. She needed to leave.

She took one step forward, and a bellow behind her only just warned her to duck as a fist went flying over her head. Ralon grabbed her around the neck, throwing all of his weight on her back, trying to force her down. She found her air supply completely cut off.

Like a bucking horse, she flipped him over her and onto the ground. They were both gasping now. He rolled over to stand up, and she jumped on his back, wholly winding and flattening him. Then she grabbed his right arm and twisted it back.

"You son of a bitch, if you go near Rowanna again, if you lay _one_ of your cursed fingers on her, I swear by the Goddess and Mithros both, I will pound you from here to Chaos and back again, break your arm off at the elbow, and beat you with the bloody stump," she hissed. "Swear you won't go near Rowanna again."

Ralon didn't say anything, but gasped when Alanna twisted his arm tighter.

"You repeat: by Mithros and the Goddess above," she seethed.

A moment of silence passed, in which she applied a touch more pressure on his arm, and he squeaked, "By the Mithros and Goddess above, I won't touch Rowanna again!"

"Very good," Alanna said coolly.

She had almost let go when Ralon scrambled half way to his feet and bellowed, "Come here, you bloody whore!"

Alanna yanked his arm back with an extra twist, and then released when she heard it break.

She stood there, panting, for a moment, and then turned around and walked away. She felt weak, she was tired, and her vision was going blurry. And the pain in her nose and right eye reminded her of murderous, stabbing needles. She wanted to lie down.

Alanna stumbled and fell to her knees.

A moment later, two strange, bony hands pulled her back up again. "Come on, girl. Let's get you to a healer."

"Alanna?" a timid but strong voice that could only be Rowanna's murmured. "This is my grandmother, Lady Sebila. She says my marriage—my marriage is canceled. Thanks."


	17. Dain of Melor

CHAPTER 17: Dain of Melor

That summer, following Alanna's fifteenth birthday, brought a sudden major threat from Tusaine, the country just east of Tortall. Apparently, Tusaine's king was itching for war and wanted to see if King Roald the Peacemaker would be any fun as an enemy. Of course, Roald benevolently accepted the Tusaine embassy into his Court and set his heart on making their stay as pleasant and successful as possible. This meant parties, balls, and peace-negotiating meetings all day everyday that were to be attended by every important Tortallan figure available, including Jarinth.

Jarinth, to say the least, was not at all pleased. The last activity she had in mind when she was supposed to be working and sleeping was "playing fear-Tortall-because-of-me," as she described it. All she would really be doing was sitting around and obeying orders that consisted mainly of _do not speak unless spoken to_.

One night, when Jarinth was away at another private soirée and Alanna was struggling furiously in an indoor court with a complex fencing form, she felt someone watching her and looked up. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and a shiver shot down her spine as Duke Roger stepped forward.

She bowed (Jon had taught her how), simultaneously wiping her face dry. "Your Grace."

"How many times will I have to ask you, Alanna?" he laughed, strolling closer. She only just kept from backing away. "Please call me 'Roger,' or at least 'my lord.' I feel so _old_ with all of this 'Your Grace' flamboyancy!"

She forced a laugh. "Oh, but it's so informal, Your Grace—my lord! Can you imagine what my deportment teacher would say if she heard me calling the one and only Duke Roger of Conté 'my lord'? She would throw a complete fit!"

Roger smiled. "A different reaction, I suppose, than if she found you fencing?"

Alanna paused. "Er, no, I suppose not."

They both chuckled, and Roger held his hands out. "May I see your blade?"

Alanna hesitated. She didn't want his conceited fingers touching Lightning! But how could she refuse the one and only Duke Roger of Conté? Reluctantly, she passed it over.

Roger's face went white, and the sword almost slipped from his shaking fingers. He studied Lightning with wide eyes, turning it and running his fingertips over the smooth metal. Then he motioned to the hilt. "An interesting jewel, this crystal," he commented casually. His eyes flicked up to hers. "Have you ever made it light up?"

Alanna didn't even have to remind herself to lie. "Light up? Of course not, my lord! What makes you ask such a question?"

"The sword is magic" was the flat reply.

_Ha! And it unnerves you!_ she jeered silently, pleased. "No! Are you quite sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" he snapped. When she looked taken aback, he shook his head and forced a smile. "My apologies, my lady, Alanna. It just caught me off guard." He paused, and then swung, twirled, and balanced the sword on one finger, and then handed it back to her. "Impressive, Alanna. I'm quite envious. That is an excellent blade. Where did you say you got it?"

"Sir Myles said he had no use of it, so he gave it to me. It was in his armory."

"This sword was just... _hanging_ in his armory? You didn't get it in any _special_ way, or something?"

Alanna did her best to look quizzical. "No, my lord."

"Hm. Oh, and, by the way, Jon asked me to tell you that he wants you in the first fencing gallery immediately. His squire, Geoffrey, is fighting one of the Tusaine knights."

"What?" she yelped. She shoved Lightning into her scabbard and dashed from the court.

---

The gallery was packed with nobles and servants alike from both Tusaine and Tortall. Many were dressed in their finest garments, which meant they had just arrived from Jarinth's party. Ignoring the shocked glances of those who noticed that her gender and breeches didn't quite match, Alanna slipped through the crowd, searching for Geoffrey and Jon.

Geoffrey was surrounded by his squire and knight friends on the floor at the edge of the fencing court, stretching nervously. His face was pale yet determined, as if he were taking on a world-changing quest. At her arrival, the group looked up simultaneously, and she knew by their grim faces that the situation was far worse than she could have imagined.

"Who's the opponent?" she asked, glancing across the court to where a group of Tusaine boys sat laughing.

"The one in the middle," Gary told her quietly. "Sir Dain of Melor."

Alanna had seen Dain fight Tortallan knights in both brain and brawn. He was strong and sturdy, almost two heads taller than she was, but arrogant, too. Now, he was stretching and joking with his friends, confident that he would win this duel. Alanna pursed her lips. _Goddess, please sent him down._ "How did all this get started, anyway?"

"Jon was playing Prince Almighty again, and Dain lost it, cursing Tortall and our fencing techniques. Jon, of course, couldn't let this be, and set up a duel between dear Geoffrey and old Dain," Raoul explained, and then added cruelly, "I'll hold Jon down if you want to bash him."

"Why would I want to bash Jon? Geoffrey will do fine. He's great with the sword," Alanna tried to cheer them up, but to no avail. "Oh come on! How bad can it be?"

"Oh, pretty bad," Douglass replied. "Raoul lost his temper with Dain and insulted his chivalrous ways—or lack thereof—and now, the duel can't end unless it ends chivalrously. That in itself wouldn't be so bad except for the fact that Dain has a temper problem and has also been drinking. Apparently, if their fight ends nobly, it won't be because he tried to make it so, so Geoffrey's chances of surviving this unbruised are pretty slim."

Alanna winced, and then asked, "So, who's your back-up?" Someone would have to take Geoffrey's place if he fell before the fight was over.

Geoffrey met her eyes and held them. "You are."

Shock numbed Alanna, as, just then, King Roald called the gallery to attention. Dain and Geoffrey stepped to the center of the court. The salutes to the king and vows of chivalry passed in a blur. And then, the two men were fighting. Alanna watched, as good as paralyzed, blood pounding in her ears. She prayed fervently that Geoffrey won. Around her, friends stood close, their eyes glued to the duel before them. Only the clash of sword upon sword could be heard as they all waited with bated breath.

Alanna knew it was happening before it happened. Geoffrey's feet and reflexes failed him all at once, and his sword arm dragged. Dain, however, did not slow down, and his sword was slicing through the air on its way to Geoffrey's head.

The flat of the blade hit Geoffrey in the temple, the hardest slap the squire would ever receive, and flung him backwards. He fell to the ground with a _thud_, his own weapon escaping to spiral away on the ground. The laws of chivalry demanded that five seconds be waited to see if a fallen opponent moved, and Alanna found herself counting: one, two—

She blinked at the glint of metal flying towards Geoffrey. What was going on? Geoffrey hadn't so much as flinched, so the duel couldn't continue.

"Alanna, that's you!" Raoul bellowed from her side.

Someone shoved her into the ring, and she stumbled, bewildered, before it dawned on her: it was her turn!

"Damn! Geoffrey, _move_!" she shrieked, dashing forward. To her utter surprise and relief, the squire obeyed, rolling over, but not before the five seconds were up, and it was clear from the way Dain's sword bashed the space where Geoffrey had formerly been that the fight had not ended chivalrously. Now Alanna had to end it.

Dain saw his new opponent's long hair and developed bosom and laughed out loud.

"A girl!" he sneered. "This is the way Tortallans defend a squire's honor: by sending me a _girl_? They'd better have someone else in line, wench, because you won't be lasting any longer than he did!"

But then, minutes later, she was still going strong, not even breathing hard, and Dain's eyes grew wide with shock. This girl knew what she was doing.

Alanna almost couldn't keep from laughing at the thrill of being back on the court, fencing like she had back in Persopolis. It did not take much effort to return mentally to the desert city, battling one of the city boys once again. Dain was no different than them: talented yet egotistical, big, and unable to believe her talent because of her gender. One difference occurred to her, though. The guys in Persopolis believed in honor. They were not arrogant enough to disregard her laws of chivalry or threaten a poor boy's life. Dain, on the other hand, had not learned that lesson yet.

Dain laughed belittlingly and threw insults at her cruelly, moving from her gender to her rodent-related ancestors with the smoothness of experience. It was fashionable to verbally offend the opponent while fighting, but Alanna had always found that silence unnerved her rivals so much more and saved breath. So, she stayed quiet and tuned out Dain's comments, just wielding her blade and keeping an eye out for a weakness of his to use.

She found it in that Dain watched her sword arm to foresee her next moves, apparently believing that she would be too preoccupied blocking his attacks to pull any sneaky tricks on him.

Alanna skirted a blow to her right arm, switched Lightning to her left hand at the same time, and, while Dain watched her right hand for her returning strike, swept Lightning up to his sword's hilt and twisted, yanking the blade from his hand. Then, to finish off the clean move like a dance, she settled Lightning's point on his throat and fixed him with a cold glare.

"Being drunk is no excuse to toy with the laws of chivalry," she told him frostily. "Mess with them once more, and I'll make sure you'll never be able to mess with anything ever again. Am I clear?"

Panting, Dain nodded feebly.

"Good." She applied a touch more pressure to his neck, and then sheathed Lightning and offered her hand. "Nice match."

Dain hurriedly jerked her hand before spinning around, grabbing his sword, and making a beeline for his friends.

Then, Alanna let out a deep breath and wiped sweat off her forehead, just to find the rest of her soaking with it. She had hardly noticed.

Around her, Tortallans erupted into cheers, flooding onto the court to clap her on the back and laugh.


	18. Great Mother Goddess

CHAPTER 18: Great Mother Goddess

Roger was scaring her. She turned a corner—and he was there. She sat down to dinner—and he was there. She opened her eyes—and he was there. He was stalking her.

Alanna, heart beating like a war drum, knocked her heels against Moonlight's sides, urging her to speed to a gallop as they raced through the Royal Forest. Three months had passed since that fateful fight with Sir Dain of Melor, since she had begun feeling Duke Roger of Conté watch her. She had to get away from him. Even if it were just for today, she had to be rid of his ever-haunting eye.

Ages after racing like a hunted deer from the palace, Alanna slowed, gasping, to a trot, and then, hesitantly, to a walk. Cautiously, she took in her surroundings of the Great Royal Forest, and then stopped altogether next to an enormous willow tree at the top of a hill—a secure place to think in peace—and soon had a fire blazing.

Alanna leaned back against the trunk of the tree, trying to calm her jumping nerves, but ended up shrieking and jumping to her feet when something prodded against her lower back. Suddenly, she sneezed twice and coughed, and then looked down at the ground where she had been sitting. To her surprise, a small, black kitten rolled playfully in the dirt, purring charismatically. Alanna couldn't help but laugh and bent to pick it up, noting out of the corner of her eye the cat's masculine features. It mewed softly, and then clawed its way up her sleeve to settle comfortably on her left shoulder. Alanna wondered if she should bother pondering its instant tameness, and decided against it. She had enough on her mind as it was.

Another sneeze of hers sent her new pet toppling off her shoulder, and she only just caught him as he yowled frantically. More sneezes hit her one after the other, stunning her momentarily and causing her eyes to flood. It took her minutes to get under control again, and when she finally opened her eyes, they locked with her kitten's. She froze. His eyes were as purple as her own. "Goddess," she breathed.

"Yes?" a strong, melodic voice asked from behind her.

Alanna started and spun. Standing on the other side of the fire was the most beautiful woman she had ever laid eyes on. Thick black hair and lively emerald eyes perfectly accented smooth olive skin, a faultlessly-cut nose and chin, and a full red mouth. But, oddly enough, she dressed her finely-curved body in the simple garments of a tunic, a shirt, breeches, boots, and a cloak. She was no normal lady, though that much was clear enough just by her presence in the forest, without even a horse for a companion.

"Hello," Alanna greeted suspiciously. "May I help you?"

"You most certainly may, my daughter. Please sit," the woman replied smoothly, dropping to the ground into a cross-legged position.

Alanna followed suit, setting the cat in her lap, but never took her eyes off the stranger woman. She knew that voice. It was as light and wonderful as a cool breeze in the summer, and yet, at the same time, as strong and powerful as thunder. She had heard it a year or so before, in a dream or something, giving her help, saving her life...

Suddenly, Alanna remembered. She froze. This woman had helped her and Jon defeat the Ysandir. She had told Alanna to use Lightning to fight Ylon, in that same gentle, dreadful voice.

"Goddess!" she gasped, and when the woman nodded, Alanna swore and jumped to her feet, ignorantly dumping the cat to ground, wondering how she curtsied to a goddess and what happened when she couldn't curtsy because she was wearing breeches, and what was she supposed to _say_?

She faltered, and the Great Mother Goddess laughed softly, petting the kitten as he crawled into her lap. "Sit down, my daughter. We have much to talk about and very little time to do it in. Roger of Conté has been troubling you."

Alanna stiffened. She had never spoken to anyone about Roger before. After all, it was all her imagination. She swallowed and shrugged. "Duke Roger is a good man. All of my friends trust him, so I should too."

"But you don't."

The force keeping her thoughts about Roger in her head and away from her tongue shattered. "No, I don't!" she shrieked. "He stares at me like I'm some kind of _prey_. I hate him. I think he's evil. I have no reason to, none at all, no proof that he _isn't_ divine. But every other day, now, Roger works on the spells while Jarinth works with His Majesty on Tusaine, and every day after that, Jarinth and Roger trade places, and she works on the spells, and it's as if Roger hadn't been doing anything at all, or even that he's been backtracking. She's confronted him once about it, but nothing happened. 'It's slow going,' he says. 'It will take long years before any visible progress has been made.' But I know that's crap—this shouldn't take years and we should _already_ be seeing progress. Jarinth is too tired and therefore too braindead to argue, so she just accepts it and moves on. But _I_ still hate his guts."

The Goddess nodded. "Good. Your eyes are open. Keep them open, and you'll see more. Remember that he is a mortal man, and you can use that against him."

Alanna jerked back, startled by the unexpected statement. "'_Use that against him_'?"

"The Ysandir told you that you were to kill the king's worst enemy. Has it never occurred to you who that enemy is?"

"Not Roger!" Alanna gasped. "He loves the royal family!"

"It appears that way, doesn't it?"

"But even if he is, that doesn't mean that I'm necessarily going to kill him! That was an entirely different life! I mean, if that were to stay the same, then who's to say I'm not to become the King's Champion, or even not to become a knight at all?"

"Yes, who's to say?" the Goddess replied. "Surely you've realized you're not like other ladies, Alanna. After all, you are one of my Chosen."

Alanna stared harder than ever. _She_ was one of the Goddess' Chosen? A mortal selected—singled out—by a god to help bring a certain twist to life? Chosen Ones were nothing but trouble.

"You've started well already: at least you're training. But enough chatter. I need to leave soon, but before I do, I have a gift for you."

If she hadn't been wary before, Alanna was instantly so now. Those who wielded gifts from gods rarely had good things to say about them, and she had an inkling this time would be no different. Keeping an eye out for any hidden tricks, Alanna watched suspiciously as the Goddess reached for the fire. The Mother, disregarding the heat, smoothly dipped her hand into the roaring flames and picked up a glowing ember. Then, she held it out. Alanna stared at it in astonishment, understanding the silent request and not wanting to obey at all. "Mother, I know you mean the best, but—must I?" she whispered, wincing at the very thought of daring to question a god.

The Goddess smiled. "You must."

Bracing herself as she reached out, Alanna gasped when her fingers received not a burning coal, but, instead, a cool ember. The fire and its heat glowed from within a glass, diamond-hard coat, smooth save for a holed bump just wide enough for a thin chain to slip through: the perfect necklace. Calling such a gift "beautiful" would dishonor its magnificence.

From across the fire, her temporarily-forgotten pet mewed for attention, causing Alanna to jump in surprise. For a moment, the ember had held her full attention while the Mother waited. Shocked that her Goddess had failed to interest her more than a new present, she blushed furiously and bowed her head. "My apologies, my Mother. Your ember is incredible."

"_Your_ ember, my dear. It's a gift from me to you. Keep it always—you'll need it very soon. Now, I must be off. Farewell, my child, and good luck." Just then, the black kitten shrieked and pawed at the Goddess' leg. To Alanna's surprise, the Mother picked him up and said firmly, "And _you_ must stay here. Protect her; she'll need all of the help she can get."

Then the Goddess rose, and Alanna jumped to her feet and bowed. "Thank you, Mother. I won't fail you." When she stood straight again, the god had vanished, leaving the black kitten to mew pitifully on the ground. Glancing at him, Alanna could only laugh in wonder at the day's events.

"Alanna!" a man suddenly shouted, relief flooding his voice.

Before she could react, George had swept her up into his arms in a tight embrace.

"Hey George," she whispered, hugging him back just as strongly. Somehow his presence didn't surprise her. "Thanks for coming."

"Don't you _ever_ do that again," he told her fiercely. "The next time you feel the urge to run out into the woods like some insane, hunted man, you come to _me_, alright?"

"Alright."

"Good." He sat, pulling her down next to him, and nodded toward the cat. "Who's that?"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "I just found him here. He seemed to like me, so I figured I'd keep him. How did you get here?"

"On horseback, of course. You left clear tracks in your rush to get here. My birds told me you had left and that you were headed for the Royal Forest, and I did the rest."

Only now did Alanna spot the bay—Apple, George called her—nibbling on grass with Moonlight. She started to hoist herself to her feet to tether the mount to the tree, but George tugged her back down. "She'll stay," he promised, "and you, lass, aren't going anywhere until you explain yourself. What's the matter? Jarinth, my ma, and your boys—especially Jon—are worried sick. What happened?"

She rubbed her head and then leaned against the tree behind them. "Roger," she finally said.

"Ah, are his good looks finally getting to your head?" he teased quietly.

"No, it's just that—oh, I don't know. He scares me, I think," she admitted.

"My lass? Scared?"

"It's weird," she said needlessly, and then explained her suspicions as she had to the Goddess. "But I have no _proof_. I could just be terribly paranoid and looking for someone to blame."

"You could be," he agreed, "except for that I've noticed it too. What's more, I've thought about it a tidge more fully than you have. You need a different perspective. Think of it this way: if he first gets rid of, one, Queen Lianne; two, King Roald; and, three, Jon, where does that he leave him? As the royal family's closest relation, he'll be the almighty king of Tortall."

Alanna jumped and stared at him in shock. "But Roger would never do such a thing. He loves Jon. He taught him how to ride his first horse, and now they do everything together."

"The perfect alibi once he's king," George reminded her.

"But then why doesn't he send a huge disease and kill them all right now?"

"He's already tried. Mother told you about it your first day back from Persopolis. The sickness drained the healers of their magic and killed its worst victims in less than a week. The Queen was one of the really bad ones, though she lucked out and didn't die. Chances are that there had been plans to make Jon or Roald catch it once the healers were too weak to help."

"But the illness failed. And Roger was in _Carthak_. You don't really think he's strong enough to send such a spell all the way from there, do you?"

"I do, but not a spell that big and special, limited to just one city. He had help—from the strengthening spells. Someone, I'm willing to bet, found out and destroyed the strengthening shield, which was quite possible now that it was weakened from helping Roger's spell. In destroying the shield, this new mage also terribly weakened Roger's spells, forcing him to draw back before a mage traced the spells to him, or he died trying to continue the illness. This incident probably made the acid red-Gift contamination." He paused to let his words sink in, which they did. Alanna shuddered and laid her hurting head on his shoulder. "I suspect he's doing plenty now, too, by weakening Jarinth, one of Their Majesties' greatest guardians. He keeps her busy with the repairs and the doll—I'll bet that's his doing, too. If the doll weren't there, she could easily progress the work on the spells. If the repairs weren't there, she could easily trace the doll back to him.

"He also keeps _you_ busy—stalking you, like you said. I have people watching you, and you and Jarinth are regularly followed to your talks with Ma and me, and you've been followed twice on your night trips to the Dove. You're a threat because you can help Jon—with magic and fighting. Roger wouldn't strike until he's gotten rid of you."

Alanna thought about this silently, and finally groaned, "But there's no _proof_."

George glanced at her and shook his head. "Nothing physical, no. But we can think without proof. Now, however, we should get back before they send out a search party for us."

She agreed, and they both stood. The ride back was calm and comfortable with the cat riding in his chosen spot of under Alanna's ear, where he fit perfectly. At the edge of the Royal Forest, where their paths split between the town and palace, they dismounted for a small snack. It was just before they mounted again and set off on their own paths that George locked his gaze with Alanna's.

"_No more running off_," he stressed firmly one last time. "I have _many_ birds watching you after today. They're in direct contact with me, so you'll not get far before I catch up to you, understand? You come to _me_."

Alanna grinned and gave him a quick hug. "I promise."

He smiled and touched her cheek. "Lass, have you given a thought to your courting life yet?"

She looked at him quizzically. "George, what a random question!"

"For you, maybe. When you start thinking about it more, you'll keep me in mind, won't you?"

"George, I don't understand. What—"

He leaned down and kissed her gently. She let him, too stunned to react. When he pulled away, she could only tremble.

"Just a thought," he told her softly and yet somehow playfully.

Alanna forced a laugh and stepped away, only too aware of her flushed cheeks and chaotic insides. "George, what _have_ you been drinking?" The teasing tone did not quite hide her uneasiness.

"Nothing of consequence," he replied, eyes shining with something hot that made Alanna look away.

"You're insane," she said flatly.

"If you say so." He mounted Apple. "Will you still come down to the Dove tomorrow night, even after this?"

She stared at him. "George, you just get stranger and stranger. Why wouldn't I come?"

He smiled. "Good. I'll see you then." With that, he ruffled her hair and prodded Apple into a trot, heading quickly for town.

Alanna groaned and mounted Moonlight. "Why do men have to make things so _difficult_?"

_Funny_, her kitten replied. _I was just about to ask the same about you._


	19. Alexander of Tirragen

CHAPTER 19: Alexander of Tirragen

The night of Jonathan's nineteenth birthday that August, a seething Alanna sat on a window seat, glowering at the boys on the other side of the room flocked around a girl from the convent. She had just made the mistake of introducing Gary to the girl—chestnut-haired, green-eyed, chesty Delia of Eldorne—and then got bellowed at by Jon for doing so. Apparently, she was just trying to make Gary like her.

Alex walked up, saw what had caught her attention, and laughed before sitting next to her. "Quite the player, isn't she? If she hasn't charmed evey man here before the night is done, I'll be surprised."

Silentely, Alanna agreed. Aloud, she asked, "Have you spoken with Jon recently? He seems uptight."

"When he has competition for a woman he wants? _Yeah_, he's uptight. What, did he snap at you for introducing Gary to Delia first? Ha. Gary and Jon won't be talking to each other tomorrow."

"Will they talk to _me_?"

Alex pondered the question for a few seconds before shaking his head. "No, probably not."

"Men!" she scoffed.

"Thank you, Alanna. I think you're great too."

Alanna had to laugh at that, and shook her head. "Sorry. That's not how I meant it."

"I know." He smiled. "Ah, look, it's Jon's dearest squire. My, my, he looks harassed."

"Harassed" hardly summed up Geoffrey—who, as Jon's squire, served drinks. The disgruntled boy made his way towards them and, slamming his empty tray down on an open spot on the window seat, cried, "I _hate_ that bitch! She's just playing with them, flirting with first one, and then the other, and then the other, and then the other. And they're all getting so ticked with each other; I'll be surprised if they don't start a fistfight! And Jon is the worst of all—she keeps going back to him."

Alex got a kick out of this. "Oh, poor Geoffrey. The one man Delia will scare away by flirting too much. Careful—Jon's giving you the evil eye, so you had better run."

As Geoffrey scurried away, Alanna felt a prodding at her foot. She glanced down to find a black furball butting its head into her leg, trying to get her attention. She smiled. The cat she had found the night of the Goddess had earned the name "Faithful" due to his tendency to find and follow her everywhere. Even now, at a ball, he refused to stray too far away for too long. Alanna scooped him up and settled him on her left shoulder, his favorite resting spot. She had discovered that his mews tended to sound extremely coherent, and she was always interested in what he had to say.

"So, what do you think?" she asked him as Alex watched, amused.

_She's interesting_, Faithful replied carelessly. _But I would like to know why your friend here isn't as stricken by her good looks as the other boys_.

Alex laughed when she repeated the question aloud. "Delia's governess is my mother. I've met her too many times to be stricken by her."

Alanna could only accept that. Faithful, however, could not. _Hmph_, he muttered. _Sure_. Before she had the chance to respond, Raoul hurried up, looking hassled.

"Alanna!" he cried accusingly. "Why didn't you introduce me to her?" And then he dashed away to join Delia's flock.

Alanna stared after him, aghast, and then gave up. "That's it. I'm off to bed. See you tomorrow, Alex."

"'Night, Alanna. I'll tell you tomorrow if anything fascinating happens," he promised, settling back against the window to watch his friends embarrass themselves.

---

The following winter proved harsh for Alanna. Coram wrote from home that Lord Alan suffered from a murderous illness, and his body only continued to deteriorate despite the work of healers. Early frost had damaged the harvest, and the prospect of death from starvation darkened the villagers' ever-bleak days. Alanna jumped immediately to their aid, sending up blankets, firewood, food, and extra cold remedies in case Maude ran short. Often, she turned to Myles and Duke Gareth for advice, which they willingly supplied. As she worked, though, she couldn't help but worry that, once her father died, she would find herself alone and with no one to turn to, for Alan would never agree to let her, a woman, inherit the fief. She would have to get married fast if she hoped to change her predicament.

When she brought this up recklessly to George one night, he looked up from his desk where he scribbled on a piece of paper. "That's an option I wouldn't mind," he murmured.

Alanna ducked her head. Ever since that arcane kiss, he kept reminding her about it through small touches and subtle phrases like this one. They scared her in their own awkward way, and she forced herself to laugh them off. "You don't want to marry me, George. You need a girl who's wilder than me, who's prettier than me, who would help you rule the Rogue better than I would. You know I'd only make a mess of it. You know what? I think you should marry Rowanna. You guys would be great together. You both love knives and fist-fighting, you both—"

George laughed. "Rowanna's fine, lass, but I know who I want, and it's not her. In fact, that would be kind of awkward. Did you know she's working for me, as a spy?"

"Really?" she answered, pleased. "I remembered when we first started training at the convent—she was really excited about the idea of spying." Alanna frowned, realizing that she herself, on the other hand, had hardly dwelled on the prospect at all. What did she plan to do with her life?

"Yes, she said so. Well, did you know she's going to Tusaine to negotiate a marriage? She volunteered—actually, I kind of hinted at it, and then she volunteered—to keep her eyes open over there. She's been doing a really good job—better than I planned, actually. I have a flood of information coming in from her. She says mostly it's just a bit of uneasiness floating around, especially after your fight with Dain. She's had to deny that she knows you in order to keep from being shunned. Also, she says hi to you and Raoul."

Alanna smiled. "I'm glad you found her a way to help you, George. She must be ecstatic." Then she nodded at the paper-spewed desk. "Is that really what you do all day? Go through your information from spies? I never imagined you doing paperwork."

He chuckled again. "I don't spend a lot of time doing this. There's nothing too important to look over. They're all saying the same thing about the palace: Delia of Eldorne has every Court bachelor under her thumb."

"If there's a king of understatements, that's it," Alanna remarked dryly.

Delia knew how to keep her countless suitors on their toes, acting as if they meant more than the world to her one day and then as if they didn't exist the next. To Geoffrey's dismay, she picked Jonathan as her favorite toy; the squire suffered greatly from his knight-master's cross and irritable attitude after nights spent with Delia. Alanna tried to pity her depressed friend, but it turned out quite difficult when she, too, suffered. Jonathan kept demanding ways to make Delia like him more—he figured that, since Delia and Alanna shared a common gender, she would know what would please Delia more than the other boys pleased her. However, since the two girls shared little more than their gender, Alanna had absolutely no idea. When Jon started bellowing at her ignorant reply, she slipped away and joined Alex and Francis—both of whom managed to survive Delia's enchantments—somewhere safe, far from Jon.

One such day, she and Alex, during a nonchalant conversation of fencing tactics, discovered their corresponding interest in duelling one another. Duke Gareth continued to school them every morning, but he had never had them fence each other. Now, with Francis gone on an errand, they decided to try it out and headed for a secluded, inside fencing court with Faithful trailing behind them. As they stretched, Alanna reviewed everything she knew about Alex's advantages. Unlike her, he matched Duke Gareth in his talent, never foreshadowing his moves, and was blessed with height, strength, and dexterity. Still, _she_ had Ali's training on her back and knew many Bazhir tricks that he had never heard of. Furthermore, she could boast of twice Alex's agility, able to weave, swerve, and duck in ways he would never, due to her nights wrestling with George. So, all in all, they almost stood on even ground.

With stretching finished, they grabbed wooden swords, stepped to the center of the court, and saluted each other. Then, like lightning, Alex lashed out. Caught off guard by the sudden movement, Alanna could only duck. She popped back up to block his next attack smoothly. Their actions picked up speed, and soon no time to think passed between strikes and parries. Alanna stopped concentrating on what her sword did as it switched from attacking to blocking faster than she could follow, and instead watched for any possible way to sneak past Alex's guard—a virtually impossible task.

Suddenly, her wrist twisted and her hand, unexpectedly lighter, wrenched. She bit back a yip of pain as her sword flew through the air. Then, she spotted Alex's weapon come sailing towards her from above. This time, a yelp did escape her mouth as she leapt to the side, her shoulder missing a bashing by inches.

"Alex—I yield! Stop it!" she cried, jumping back. If she hadn't moved, he would have knocked her out cold. All of a sudden, fright swept over her in a cold wave. The duel had ended with Alex as the winner. So what made him continue to lunge forward with that crazy gleam in his eyes? "Alex, that's enough!"

She hopped back once more, but not fast enough as his sword nipped her cheek. Fire blazed in her face, and she knew she had to get to her sword, which lay just feet to her left. She dropped into a crouch and, as Alex brought his blade down, dove to the side. Her fingers clasped the hilt, and she rolled to avoid his weapon again. She jumped to her feet just in time to block an attack headed for her left hip. But then his blade whipped around and smacked her right ribcage. She gasped at the pain, and then yelped as the flat of the blade collided with her temple. Her knees buckled, and she fell, dazed, to the ground.

---

Alanna opened her eyes to find Myles and Duke Baird, the palace's head healer, staring down at her. Neither looked extraordinarily happy; in fact, Myles appeared downright livid. Her head swam and hurt badly. So did the rest of her, she slowly realized, though this didn't surprise her too much since she lay on the hard, wood floor of the fencing court.

"What happened?" she croaked.

"_Sir_ Alexander just tried to kill you," Myles snapped furiously, his abnormally harsh tone making Alanna flinch.

Duke Baird glowered at him. "Myles, that's enough. Alex just got a little wild. It's been happening to all the boys after being stuffed up for so long this winter." Then, his gaze softening, he turned back to Alanna. "He's being sent to work off some of his energy on patrol duty up north right now. He says to tell you he's terribly sorry and hopes you will forgive him."

_Myles is right_, said Faithful, who stood by her ear and out of her sight. _Alex_ was _trying to kill you. I went to go get Myles, and he brought Duke Gareth, who blocked one of Alex's strikes and sent his sword flying. Gareth was really angry. Alex was scared. He claims he didn't know what he was doing._

Alanna frowned, confused. "What?"

Faithful sighed impatiently. _You were just about to be smacked to death by a wooden stick. I saved your life._

She smiled. "Thanks, Faithful. I owe you one."

Duke Baird confined Alanna to bed until the next day. That evening, she made straight for the Dancing Dove.

"He terrified me," she admitted. "I thought he wanted to kill me. Duke Gareth says Alex wanted to prove he was the best. But then why didn't he stop when I lost my sword?"

George didn't answer for a minute, but then said softly, "But you never trusted him before, did you, lass? You never introduced him to me."

This question had plagued Alanna for ages, and she had her answer prepared. "He became Roger's squire two or so years ago, and even after he became a knight, he was still too busy working with him to meet you."

"And what about Francis of Nond? Why haven't I met him?"

Alanna paused, and then groaned in defeat. And yet again, George proved correct. "Because he's close to Alex."

"But what's wrong with Alex? Roger's former squire is fine; you trust him."

"I have no proof, George!" she cried, exasperated. "I have no evidence whatsoever that Roger, Alex, or Francis is bad!"

"You don't need proof not to trust people," George told her firmly. "Take this fight as a warning. I doubt your next encounter with one of them alone will end so luckily."

Alanna leaned back in her chair as she let out a deep breath of air. "What am I doing, George?" she asked with her eyes closed. "I'm just a simple lady from the convent. Why did I want to learn to fight? I'd've been happier had I just kept my head down and walked quietly. Now someone wants to kill me, and I'm protecting the Crown Prince from his power-hungry cousin. How in the world did this happen?" She refused to think of being the Goddess' Chosen.

"You were just born strange," George replied solemnly, his eyes betraying his inner laughter.

Alanna couldn't help getting up and walking around the table to give George a hug. "Gods, Geore, I'm so glad I have you on my side."

His voice sounded oddly hoarse when he answered, "I'm glad to be on your side, lass."


	20. A Turn of the Tide

CHAPTER 20: A Turn of the Tide

Late one April afternoon, Timon, Duke Gareth's servant, found Alanna in her room and announced that His Grace wished to see her in his office immediately. To her surprise, she found the office crowded. Along with Duke Gareth, Jarinth, Maude, Coram, and King Roald awaited her arrival. She curtsied to the king and duke, hugged Coram and Maude, and then slipped over to stand by Jarinth. By everyone's grim faces, she guessed Duke Gareth's following words before they had left his mouth.

"I'm afraid, Alanna, that your father has passed away."

Alanna nodded. He had been so sick, she had almost expected this—not that she really cared, anyway, except for that now she had no home anymore. "Now what?" she whispered to Jarinth.

"That's what the audience is for," Duke Gareth said, handing her a piece of paper. "Read this. It arrived by magic on my desk this morning."

Alanna recognized the handwriting and almost dropped it. Frantic, she checked its date: two days earlier. Her face paled, and she glanced up at Jarinth, who nodded grimly. "Read it," she advised.

_I, Lord Thom of Trebond, hereby accept full charge of the fief of Trebond, having inherited it from my father, the late Lord Alan of Trebond_, read the first line. Alanna could have cried, but controlled herself. The letter continued on to say how Thom entrusted Coram Smythesson with the responsibility of caring for the fief with Maude's help under the supervision of Lady Alanna of Trebond. Alanna also received access to Trebond's treasury as she had had before. The rest of the letter served purely political purposes, signed by a Tortallan lawyer, Duke Nathaniel of Saragin, as a witness.

Alanna bit her lip, and then forced her pounding heart to calm. This could all easily turn out as a huge mistake. "This Duke Nathaniel of Saragin—"

"Nate is a fourth cousin of both Gareth's and mine," Roald told her, "a completely trusted and noteworthy lawyer. We've contacted him magically, and he's affirmed that he signed this paper after having a Sighted friend of his make sure Thom of Trebond, who had written it and asked him to sign it, wasn't lying."

"You mean, His Grace Duke Nathaniel _saw_ Thom?" Alanna asked skeptically.

"That's what I mean, yes."

Coram shuddered. "That boy and his witchcraft!"

"But we all saw his body—only you didn't, Maude. The rest of us saw him, lying in the—" The image of Thom lying in his coffin, pale-faced and ignorant to her tears, loomed in her mind, and she froze and shuddered. Jarinth moved her arm to around her shoulders.

"Yes, well," Coram murmured, shifting uncomfortably. "Apparently, he was either—either _raised from the dead_ or—or—"

"Or it was a simulacrum," Jarinth finished for him.

Alanna's eyebrows burrowed in confusion. "A magical, moving replica of someone?"

"Yes—er, that. We suspect that—I guess." Coram shuddered again. "I dug out his grave this morning, lass, and I swear to the gods, the body was not there. If he's not alive, I'm a mage."

---

News travelled as quickly in the palace as it had at the convent. Soon, everyone knew that, apparently, the Gift-boy Thom of Trebond had not died after all. Rumor had it that none of the mages could scry him either; they always found nothing, as if he had died. And only a powerful mage could make himself unscryable.

It took a day for Alanna to get over her original shock and realize that this news called for jollification. Her twin brother was alive! She felt almost light enough to fly.

But this feeling didn't last long. A week later, Jarinth was confined to bed with a high fever. The next day, when a terrified Alanna sat sipping cider with Myles, Stefan the hostler arrived with an urgent message from George. After a hurried explanation of her friendship with the Rogue, she and Myles both hurried down to the Dove to find George, grim-faced, at his desk.

"Rowanna just wrote," he told them instantly. "She had to send this message out her window in a hurry as soldiers pounded on her door. She's being held hostage."

"What?" Alanna yelped. Her insides—which had disappeared when Jarinth fell—now reappeared and dropped like lead to the cellars.

Myles strode over to George's desk. "Are you sure you read the message right?"

"Read it yourself," George offered, handing him a slip of paper. "Don't miss the part about the armies being prepared to set out for River Drell Valley in two days' time, which was four days ago. She also sent this, the positions of the men. I've just received the same information from Tusaine's Rogue and the castles where soldiers are camping right now. They'll probably be in place in three weeks, give or take a few days. The mountain passes are clear, so they won't have any trouble getting to the valley."

"What's to gain by getting Drell Valley?" asked Alanna, peering at the paper Myles glowered at. "And what do the arrows mean?"

"The red ones are legions—there are a hundred men per legion." There were twenty red arrows. "The blue ones are units of ten knights." There were fifteen blue arrows.

Alanna swore.

"That's putting it lightly." Myles remarked, smiling slightly at her. "If Tusaine gains the valley, they'll have control of one of the main defenses of the eastern border. They'll also control a good chunk of Drell River, plus four main passes through the mountains."

"But they have to get the valley first," Alanna pointed out. "And this valley is a crappy place to fight. The mountains make it hard for reinforcements and supplies to arrive, and a lot of the fighting will be done in water."

"But Tusaine has a headstart," George pointed out. "They'll beat us there, set themselves up, maybe even attack before we arrive. I'm sure they didn't mean for us to learn of their plans so soon."

Alanna smiled at that. "But thanks to you, George, we have found out."

He hugged her around the shoulders. "I'm happy to be of service, lass."

"Alanna," Myles spoke up gently. "I have to go alert their Majesties. Are you coming?"

"I don't think I should be with you when you give them the information," Alanna told him frankly. "But I'll come back up to the palace with you."

"Before she leaves, though, Myles, would you mind if I had a private word with Alanna for a moment?" George asked politely.

Myles nodded and stepped out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

George cupped her face in a callused, gentle hand. "Are you alright? First Jon and the boys, then Alex, then your da, then Thom, then Jarinth, now Rowanna. Your life is falling down around your ears."

Alanna looked down silently, and George pulled her close in a tight embrace. She didn't cry, but, by the time she left, she felt lighter, like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

---

King Roald sent out the Call to Muster, which summoned Tortall's troops the next day. The initial force—which included Jon, Gary, Raoul, Alex, Francis, Duke Gareth, Duke Roger, and, Alanna was upset to learn, Myles—would leave in five days with Duke Gareth as their commander.

A true shock only arrived when, two days later, Duke Baird quietly stepped into Alanna's room from Jarinth's, shutting the door behind him. He looked grim and stood there, fumbling with his healer's bag, before saying slowly, "Jarinth's old, Alanna."

She frowned. Those didn't sound like good words.

"She's done a lot so far in life, and she's worked herself hard. Alanna, this is never easy, but Jarinth is tired. I'm relatively sure the fever will kill her."

Alanna stared at him. He couldn't be serious. "But it's been four days," she whispered, then squeaked again, "Four days!"

"Yes," Duke Baird agreed, much more firmly than before. "Four days. And she's going to die."

"No!" Alanna shrieked at him, horrified. "No, she's not going to die! It's a fever—she'll get better! What in Chaos' name do you mean, '_she's going to die_'? She's not going to die! She's fine! It's a fever—a _stupid fever_! I'll prove it to you! Watch!" Alanna stormed past a helpless Duke Baird and slammed open Jarinth's door. Jarinth lay limp and sweating in bed, her eyes closed. Her face was pale; she looked older than she ever had before. The gray woman didn't stir. "Jarinth!" Alanna screamed. "Jarinth! Wake up, Jarinth!"

Jarinth's eyes, bloodshot and confused, opened a centimeter. Her lips trembled as she moved them, but no sound emerged.

"Jarinth!" Alanna bellowed. "Jarinth, _look_ at me!" She grabbed the woman's face and jerked it towards her. Jarinth screamed. Alanna didn't loosen her grip. "Jarinth, you're not going to die. You're not going to die. You'll get better. It's just a fever. Damn it, Jarinth, tell me you're going to get better!" Tears streamed down her face, but she swiped them away.

Jarinth continued to scream.

"Stop it, Jarinth," Alanna roared. "Stop doing this. You're not going to die. You're not going to die! _You're not going to die!_"

Even as she said this, though, it dawned on Alanna that, yes, Jarinth was going to die. This woman—this sickly woman, lying in this pathetic bed—couldn't live. It wasn't physically possible.

"Stupid Jarinth," Alanna sobbed, pounding furiously on Jarinth's chest with a white-knuckled fist. "Why do you have to be so weak? Just wake up. Wake up, Jarinth. Get up, Jarinth!"

Strong hands grabbed her wild fists and pulled her away from Jarinth. She screamed furiously. "No, stop it! Stop it! I want to stay. No, stop it. Jarinth, stop it! Wake up, get up, Jarinth!"

She was dragged away from the bed, still shrieking, and she reached for Jarinth, trying to grab onto her, or to anything, so she could stay. She had to stay. She couldn't leave Jarinth yet. But then, suddenly, there was a bang, and Alanna found herself staring at something big and brown. Jarinth was gone. "Jarinth!" she bellowed, launching herself at the obstacle; it refused to budge.

Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor. She realized she was in her room, banging on the door. Someone had pulled her in there, away from Jarinth, who she had been beating mercilessly. Alanna wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed.

She heard voices. They were quiet, careful.

"Is she going to be alright?" one murmured.

"She'll be fine," another, dangerously close to her, replied softly.

"Raoul, Duke Baird, come on, let's go. Leave them. It's better if just one person is here with her."

"Duke Baird, this is crazy. There has to be something you can do about this…."

The voices drifted away; a door shut. Alanna sat silently, but tears continued to pour down her face.

"Alanna?" a man asked from just beside her.

A hand touched her shoulder; she flinched and it jumped, but then it settled down again.

Alanna looked up. With eyes blurred from tears, she made out black hair and prominent sapphire eyes. It was Jon, kneeling next to her. Trembling, she wiped away her tears, though others just replaced them. "She's going to die, Jon," she whispered.

"Yeah" was his hesitant reply. "Yeah, I know."

A fresh onslaught of tears overcame her, and Jon pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and rocking back and forth. "Hey, there; it's alright. Alanna, it's her time. You can't keep her here. She'll be happy, moving on. You haven't the right to hold her back. And what more has she left to do here? She's travelled all over; she's taught you. Right now, all she's doing is being cooped up in the palace, working herself sick. Everyone knows how much she hates working here. If you let her go, Alanna, she won't have to work ever again. Can you deny her that? The chance to never work again?"

Alanna's throat tightened, and she didn't answer, so Jon just held her and rocked.


	21. Healing

CHAPTER 21: Healing

The next three days were swallowed up in preparations and meetings for her friends, so Alanna had almost all seventy-two hours to herself. At first, reading sufficed enough to pass the time, but after a morning of staring blandly at black marks on paper, she resorted to aimless ambles down hallways, thinking about nothing.

It was one of these jaunts that finally brought her a craved time-filler, when Duke Gareth strode in the opposite direction as she did at a speed that seemed too rapid for a walk. She paid him no mind because, like everyone else these days, he was probably rushing for some appointment that had started a half an hour earlier.

"You look dismal, Trebond," he observed idly.

Alanna jumped in surprise, and then shrugged casually. "I'm bored, Your Grace."

"Really?" he asked, his tone not changing but a small smile touching the corners of his mouth. "My servant, Timon, is suffering from an overload of work. Go to my office; he'll find something for you to do."

Delighted, Alanna obeyed. She spent the rest of the day shuffling papers, feeling useful.

The next day, the troops were to assemble for the King's inspection. Just for the fun of it and to get out into the fresh air, she saddled Duke Gareth's mount. Stefan chided her for being a workaholic, and offered to fetch a pitchfork for mucking stalls, if she wanted.

The examination worked magnificently. Everything expected and more was ready. Jonathan, riding next to Duke Gareth, looked as regal as ever, the fearless warrior everyone coveted as their Prince. His knight friends were just as calm; their squires suffered from either excited or terrified jitters. However scared she felt for her friends, she was twice as proud.

Finally, they set off, leaving Alanna staring longingly at their vanishing backs.

Three days later, Alanna sat in the library, waiting. Women, children, and the elderly were about to move to the Summer Palace, where Lianne and Roald spent their summers. Some—the priests and scholars, and a few of the healers that hadn't gone off to war, for example—were staying behind, as were Jarinth and Alanna.

Jarinth's healers—who Alanna didn't trust in the least, as she had only ever worked with Duke Baird—hinted that, in a few days, Jarinth would move to the healers' wing.

Finally, the nobles left for the Summer Palace. Alanna left the library and spent the following hours, which slowly turned into days, wandering around the palace. Mostly she fenced. Somehow she felt so peaceful there in the court, all alone with her sword. She made sure to visit Jarinth regularly, which always made her cry. Once a day she took Moonlight out for a refreshing ride.

Then, Eleni expressed a wish to see Jarinth before she passed away. They made plans, and late the next morning, Alanna found herself with both George—who wore a wig for the occasion—and Eleni in the healers' wing, standing around Jarinth's bed. Jarinth looked worse than ever, her skin clinging to her bones like silk.

Alanna sighed and fiddled with her ember-stone for comfort, a new habit formed over the past few days.

A thick orange mist surrounded Jarinth like a mold. Alanna gasped and abruptly dropped the ember-stone. The mist vanished.

_What did you see?_ Faithful demanded, jumping onto Jarinth's night table.

"It was—it was a light…," she answered, leaning over Jarinth to examine her quizzically. Slowly, she grabbed her stone again. The mist reappeared. She looked up at Eleni, a crude suspicion forming in her mind. "What does magic look like?" she asked testily.

Eleni's eyebrows snapped together. "You're seeing magic on Jarinth?"

_It usually looks like mist, if you can see it. Often one can't, unless the mage doesn't attempt or isn't able for some reason to hide it. The color changes between mages. Yours is purple_, Faithful replied crisply. _Are you seeing magic?_

"Yes," Alanna answered. "I think I am." She frowned and glanced around. A candle sat on Jarinth's nightstand. Holding her ember-stone, she reached out to light the wick. To her shock, purple fire flicked from her fingers. She was not supposed to see that magic.

She had learned long ago that gifts from gods were rarely normal. Apparently this one was no exception.

"Yes," she repeated breathlessly. "I am. It's the ember-stone. It lets me see magic. This magic is orange."

Biting her lip and with one hand clamped to the stone, she reached with the other towards the magic. Her fingers passed through unchallenged. Then, she probed it with her own magic. Violet light brushed orange, and, suddenly, a streak of bloody red flashed, then nothing but constant orange.

Alanna gasped. "It's eating my Gift!"

_Maybe that's why the healers can't heal her._

Alanna's jaw dropped. She hadn't thought of that. If this were a spell to keep Jarinth from being healed, then, perhaps, if the spell could be destroyed, she _could_ be healed. Perhaps she was not inrepairingly damaged; it was just magic!

"But how do I get rid of a spell that absorbs my Gift when they touch?" she asked with a frown. "It's like being stuck with only a sword when the enemy's shooting at you with arrows. You're helpless."

_Well, wise one, get a stupid arrow and shoot back. Absorb this guy's Gift with your own._

She tried this, but only a moment had passed before she realized her power was no match for the orange. She was too weak. A skim around the room for help brought her to a shelf lined with collections of herbs. One of the few she recognized was vervain.

She had to get more strength, and vervain could help. A fireplace already set with logs for when the room grew cool that evening nestled in the wall at the end of the room. With the plant in hand, she knelt before the hearth and set it ablaze. Hesitantly, as she had never done this before, she tossed a few leaves in. Maude, Jarinth, and Ali had all taught her about this trick, but, at the same time, forbade her to use it. Disagreeable things happened to mortals who called on the gods for help without a good reason.

She took a deep breath and began calling upon the Greater Powers. Steadily, the blaze turned purple, the color of her magic. Her stomach clenching from nerves, she reached into the fire.

Her Gift whipped around inside her in attempt to flood from her hands into the flames. She gasped, and only just managed to grab it before completely losing control. Inside her it still fought wildly, taking many minutes to be forced back under her command. Only when assured it had calmed did she begin the spell: "Dark Goddess, Great Mother, show me the way. Open the gates to me—"

Before her, one after another, doors and gates swung open. Fire flung up around them and roared thunderously. Any pain she might have felt from the heat of the flames was undermined terribly as raw magic blasted through her palms and into her body. She bit back a shriek and fought to keep still as her flesh glowed purple. If her Gift had been chaotic before, it was nothing compared to now as burning raw magic fought for space beneathe her fragile, mortal skin. It was like a speeding heart on verge of bursting. It was next to impossible to hold on.

Suddenly, a grand, powerful voice spoke, a voice never meant for a human to hear. Alanna screamed. "_Call her back. I am here. Call her back._"

Her entire body rebelled, now, and she fought violently to gain control again. She was overwhelmed and prone to giving up and letting the fire, magic, and memory of that horrible voice eat her alive.

_Come on, Alanna_, she urged herself furiously. _Come on! You've battled Ysandir; you can do this! It's not that hard! You're acting like a soft lady, treating this like it's such a big deal. Just do it and get it done with. You can do this. You're a warrior._

_Or are you? _Are _you a soft lady, worrying about breaking a nail? Maybe that's it. You can't save Jarinth because you're too small, too weak, too girly_—

_I AM NOT!_ she shrieked to herself, terrified. She wasn't too girly, was she? No, no, no; she shook her head firmly. She _was_ a warrior. She could do this.

Alanna stood up and walked to Jarinth's bed. The woman lay there, as limp as a corpse. With instinct as her guide, she placed one hand down firmly on Jarinth's chest and, with the other, grasped the ember-stone. Slowly and cautiously, she let a scrap of her magic loose, and it ignited the orange magic in a flash of red. Suddenly, Jarinth thrashed, feeling the fire lick her body, but, still, Alanna didn't stop. Steadily, her Gift flowed from her hand until the entire orange mist blazed red. It disintegrated in seconds until only her own magic remained floating around the now-still body.

Then, she moved her hand to Jarinth's forehead and allowed herself to sink into her teacher's mind—just to find that she couldn't. In a moment of panic, she realized Jarinth had died.

"_She has travelled a long way_," that same terrible voice told her calmly. "_Take her hands. Call her back_."

Subconsciously, Alanna noted that the voice was female. She nodded in understanding. Her goddess stood with her. "Thank you." She took Jarinth's hands and called, "Jarinth! Hey, Jarinth, come back. It's time to come home, Jarinth. Jarinth!" Her voice sounded different. Alanna the sixteen-year-old wasn't speaking anymore, but, in her place, some grown woman.

Suddenly, she found herself standing on a well. Darkness surrounded her. Below her, shrieks and moans of the doomed dead wailed loud and disturbingly. She glanced behind her to find George, Eleni, and a group of horrified healers watching her in awe and shock. She was balancing on the ridge between two realms: that of the Living and that of the Dead.

This failed to interest her just then. Instead, she concentrated on Jarinth, who hovered half-way through the well. The blue eyes she stared at her with were terribly clear. "Alanna?" she called. Her voice also wasn't her own; it was of a young woman, though it sounded terribly familiar.

"That's right, Jarinth," she replied in her woman's voice. "Come on up. We have to go back. We're not supposed to be here right now. Let's go. Let's go home."

"I can't, Alanna," she told her apologetically.

"Yes, you can," she insisted, reaching down to her. "Take my hand. I'll bring you back myself."

Jarinth strained to reach her, but just as they almost touched, a shadow passed between them. Alanna recognized it in terror as the Dark God, the Master of all death.

"Excuse me," she apologized shakily. She swallowed, then continued more firmly, "I'm taking Jarinth home. She's coming with me. She's not supposed to be here just now."

The shadow glanced down at Jarinth, and then back at her. To her surprise, he nodded, and then stepped back. Alanna had the oddest feeling that he found her amusing.

She swallowed and asked, "You coming, Jarinth?"

"I'm coming," she replied, smiling. She reached up and caught her hand. "Let's go home."

Their gripped hands shone white, melting the dark well away. Back in the healer's wing, Jarinth smiled, touching her body lying in the bed. "Thank you."

"Bye." She watched as Jarinth sank into her body, and then, suddenly, she herself was back within her own skin. Jarinth slept peacefully in the bed before her. Alanna teetered, and hands caught her as she fell.

"Alanna!" she faintly heard someone cry. "You're alright!"


	22. The Warriors' Return

CHAPTER 22: The Warriors' Return

Alanna awoke in the healers' wing with a start. She glanced around, and sat up straight when she found Jarinth staring at her from the bed to her right.

"Hello, sleepy-head," Jarinth joked, stretching. "The healers check on us every hour. I've been awake since this morning, faking sleep. It's so peaceful, not being called on to do something. But what's going on? I've heard some pretty awful things. All I remember is shaking hands with Roger and then, bam, I'm here. I suppose I fainted, but that doesn't account for _your_ presence."

Alanna could only stare. "You're alive."

Jarinth stared back. "You're quick."

"You—you were as good as dead, lying in your bed for a good two weeks—"

"Two weeks? What are you talking about?"

"You—you—" Alanna stopped for lack of words, and then collapsed against her pillows. "You don't remember anything?"

"Any of what?" Jarinth demanded. "Alanna, stop it; this is creepy."

"No shit," she agreed with a moan, and then launched into the story about the illness, and the troops in River Drell Valley, and the healing.

Jarinth just gaped at her until the end when she whistled appreciatively. "Well, I'm alive now—thanks to you, I guess. And I'm well-rested, though dead hungry. I suppose I can't exactly yell at you for calling on the Greater Powers. You saved my life, apparently. What I _can_ yell at you about is that ember-stone thingy. Where did you get it?"

"The Goddess visited me. She gave it to me as a gift. She says I'm a Chosen One of hers."

"Oh—oh, of course. Yes, she's why I was at the convent, did she tell you? She told me to go wait for you there, and so I did—though not without a fight, of course—and then I got closer to you by inviting you to invite papers. That was really, really awkard."

"So that's why you did that! I've always wondered. It _was_ really awkward. But I'm glad you did."

"Yeah, me too. But orange magic, you say? I've only seen that once. Roger's magic is orange, but he couldn't have—" She stopped dead, staring at the ceiling in horror. "But he _wouldn't_. We're friends, Roger and I—"

Alanna groaned. Apparently it was time to explain her suspicions. But there was no way she was doing it here, alone. "Get up," Alanna ordered, swinging her legs out of bed. "Let's go bathe and change clothes. We're headed for town. I want George present to help me explain."

_Ah, you're awake_, Faithful greeted, trotting into the dormitory. _About time. You've been asleep for three days._

"Ah! You're awake," a healer echoed, striding just behind Faithful. "You've been asleep for three days. You're leaving?"

---

Jarinth did not take the news about Roger well. She spent a half an hour denying it, so they had to prove with their insubstantial evidence over and over again that he was indeed no friend of hers. Then, she stood abruptly and announced that if Roger thought her deathly ill, and the palace's magic-shields were in the condition they were, Corus should be expecting a magical attack any day now. So, she had to go fix up the shields immediately. With that, she stormed from the room.

"She'll be dead again by tonight," Eleni pointed out helplessly.

But Jarinth wasn't. She even joined Alanna for dinner, sitting down with a grim smile.

"You're right," she murmured. "Work is easier, now, with him gone. He must have had all sorts of spells up to hinder me that are all gone now because I'm supposed to be dead. You know the doll? It's not there anymore."

"Oh, thank the gods!" Alanna cried, relieved.

Jarinth did look much healthier—pink colored her cheeks, at least—and she managed to stomach all of her dinner, an unusual success.

A month later, little had changed. Jarinth was tired, but in the morning, after a half-hour of horseback riding and good breakfast, she felt refreshed and ready to continue her work.

July came and went, and then one August evening was greeted with a tearful shriek from Jarinth. Alanna, who had never heard Jarinth's voice rise in excitement, glanced up in horror from the book she was reading.

"One more spell!" she cried. "One more gods-cursed spell and we're _done_! DONE!"

Alanna could hardly believe her ears. "You're joking."

"No joke. It's the hardest and most tedious spell—the strengthening spell that was first ruined—and it has to stretch over all of Corus, so I'll be as good as dead when I'm done, but, Alanna, give me one more month and we're done! DONE!"

---

A week later, Alanna's spirits still soared, and she and Jarinth were taking their traditional dawn ride. They had stopped on an abnormally large hill to stare eastward.

"Wow, that sunrise is beautiful," Jarinth breathed dreamily.

Alanna toyed with her ember-stone and grinned at Jarinth. "These spells are getting to your head. You're so romantic, now."

Jarinth sniffed. "I could be terribly crabby, if you wanted."

Alanna shuddered. "I'll pass, thanks." She nodded at the sunrise. "You're right. It is love—" She stopped suddenly, staring at the horizon in horror. It was undeniably gorgeous, but something obscured its beauty. A red haze swirled lazily like smoke in the air, unable to blend in with its surroundings, as it bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain mist Alanna knew all too well. Sure enough, when she released her ember-stone, the haze vanished. When she grabbed it again, the haze had already grown, as if advancing in the sky towards Corus.

"Jarinth," Alanna gasped, "I think someone thinks you're dead."

Jarinth stared at her, startled, and then jerked her gaze back to the sunrise. To Alanna's surprise, she smiled. "They're too late. Roger probably thinks I'm dead, because his spell over me is gone. He had someone send that spell—I don't know who has a red Gift, but he certainly doesn't. But they won't be able to get in; I've made too much progress already that they won't be expecting. Let's head back to the stables. I should go get to work. Don't worry about this—it'll pass."

Sleep did not want to come that night. The next morning, Alanna woke from a small, uneasy doze with her white-knuckled fist squeezing the ember-stone. Outside her window, everything was painted red.

"Don't worry," Jarinth said airily when Alanna pointed this out with a shriek. "It can't hurt us. I wonder how long it will stay before the mage gives up. I'll bet you ten gold nobles he's gone the day after next."

But the red wasn't gone in two days—nor in three, nor in four. In fact, an entire week passed before the mist finally retreated, leaving Alanna shaken but alive. No one else but a few palace mages had noticed anything amiss at all. But the magic's departure didn't result in joyous celebrations—not yet, anyway.

"He might be back," Jarinth said matter-of-factly. "And then, he'll be stronger, more prepared. We can only pray we'll be done with the strengthening spell before he decides to try again."

The mage didn't have the chance to attack again. A week later, the troops returned from Drell River Valley after a true surrender from Tusaine.

---

Tears were streaming down Alanna's cheeks as she met her friends in the courtyard. Myles, sobbing openly, grabbed hold of her and then refused to let go for the longest time. Finally, Jonathan pried her away and enveloped her in an iron hug that Raoul, Gary, Alex, Geoffrey, Douglass, and Sacherell quickly joined.

It wasn't until later, when they were all settled in Myles' room, that Alanna truly took hold of their casualties. Geoffrey's head was heavily bandaged, Raoul's arm rested in a sling, and Gary had twisted his ankle while fighting in the river. Duke Gareth had suffered a messy break of his leg in early July and turned commandership over to Roger after Geoffrey was kidnapped—

"What?" Alanna cried.

Geoffrey grinned crookedly. "Apparently, because I'm the Prince's squire, he divulges his heart's most secret desires to me. They wanted information. Thank the gods I didn't have it." He touched his bandages and shuddered.

Alanna stared at him. He was no older than she, age-wise, but, still, he had grown up during this war. He had probably suffered terrible torture of which a healing could ease only the physical pain, but the memories—the memories would stay forever.

"Are you alright?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. I'm alive. That's more than can be said of—" Suddenly, he stopped, staring straight ahead, unmoving, his face pained.

Myles lay a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Geoffrey. He died a hero."

Alanna knew what had happened before another word was spoken. She had noticed Francis's unusual absence but figured he was simply in the healers' wing with so many other soldiers. Now she realized that he was past the healers' wing. He would never have the chance to visit the healers' wing again.

Alanna stood up. She couldn't sit still and accept all of this at the same time. Automatically, her hands jumped to the cider pitcher on the table before them and started pouring.

Jon murmured, "He took an arrow for me. We were in the middle of a battle; it was so chaotic. An archer from behind a tree shot, and Francis threw himself in front of me—"

Alanna's hand trembled violently, and she replaced the pitcher on the table before it spilled all over. Her throat tightened, and she put a hand over her mouth. She wouldn't cry. She couldn't. It was cruel to shed tears over an honorable death. Jon had her in his arms in seconds, rocking gently back and forth. She held him tightly as tears streamed silently down her cheeks.


	23. Jonathan of Conté

CHAPTER 23: Jonathan of Conté

Later that evening, Jon took Alanna back to her rooms. He leaned on the closed door, watching as she first washed her face and then sat to apply a touch of face paint before dinner. She tried to ignore him, finding his unwavering gaze disconcerting, but it was hard not to notice when he came up behind her and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

"You look lovely," he told her solemnly.

She smiled weakly. "I'll thank you for saying so, but that's hardly true. I don't hold a candle to half the court ladies."

He smiled and brushed her neck with his fingertips. Alanna stiffened. She had never been so aware of how cool Jon's fingers were, or how it was possible for her heart to beat so fast. She was quite sure she had never been this close to any of her noble guy-friends before. In fact, she had never been this close to any of her guy friends at all except for George, and that was only when he—

Jon leaned down and kissed her neck. She gasped and pulled away. "Jon!"

"What?" he murmured, following her retreat.

"Jon, you're—we can't do this!" Her stomach was pounding—or was it her heart? She couldn't tell the difference anymore.

"Sure we can. We are, right now." He pulled her to her feet, turned her so they faced one another, and slid his arms around her waist. His lips returned to her neck.

"Oh gods, Jon, please—" she gasped, but even she heard how her voice had weakened. A part of her mind was already telling her that this wasn't so bad—it was quite wonderful, actually—

He moved to her ear, then her eyelid, and then trailed down to just outside the corner of her mouth. Alanna had never felt so light and fluttery, so weak, before. She clung to Jon's shoulders just to keep standing. She couldn't stand this, their faces so close together, their noses touching, his mouth right there, her mouth right _there_—

He turned his face slightly, and she met his kiss full force.

And then the dinner bell rang. Jon pulled away and swore.

Sudden reality dawned on Alanna. Here she was, her body pressed to the Crown Prince's, his arms around her waist, her lips still tingling mercilessly from a beautiful, terrible kiss! She covered her face in her hands and pulled deliberately from his arms, shaking her head defiantly. She was not doing this; this did not just happen; would her heart _shut up_?

"Alanna?" Jon asked tentatively, reaching up to remove her hands from her face.

Alanna jerked back, trembling incontrollably, both outside and in. "I—I'll be late for dinner," she replied breathlessly and lamely. She moved for the door, but Jon caught her hand. "Jon—stop."

He stared at her, baffled. "Why?"

"Because—because I said so, and because… I don't want to."

"No? Are you sure?" His voice gave away his amused disbelief.

"Yes, perfectly sure." A white lie never hurt anyone.

He sighed. "I really missed you, Alanna."

"I missed you too, Jon, but—don't."

"Don't what?" he demanded irritably. "Don't talk about how I love you?" When she didn't say anthing, he gave her a last, sorrowful glance and left, shutting the door behind him.

_You really know how to make a wreck out of things, don't you?_

Alanna jumped and spun to find Faithful stretched out comfortably on her bed, watching her with a bored expression. She stared at him. "You just saw all of that?"

_I shut my eyes when I thought you were going to tear his tunic off, but, otherwise, yes, I saw all of that. It's quite amusing, watching you melt all over him._

"'Tear his tunic—'?" Alanna echoed breathlessly. Had she really almost done that? Had they been that close to actually _sleeping together_? The thought horrified her. Especially when it included Jon. She shuddered and strode quickly to her jewelry box. There, buried on the bottom, lay an arcane gold symbol on a chain that Eleni had given to her. Apparently it warded off pregnancy. She had no intentions of sleeping with anyone any time soon—especially Jon—but, then again, she had had no intentions of kissing anyone this evening, either—especially Jon.

---

"They're done!" Jarinth shrieked, bursting into Alanna's room one evening a week later. "They're done; they're done; they're done; they're done!"

Alanna grinned. The news was no surprise—Jarinth had been eagerly counting down the days until the magical repairs were finished and had included her student in on the fun. "That's great, Jarinth."

"Great? _Great?_ Alanna, this is terrific! And guess what? That leaves us all winter to plan our trip to Carthak. We'll leave as soon as possible this spring."

Alanna started, taken aback. "What?"

"Oh, come on, Alanna! You don't think we'd stay here much longer after I'd finished, do you? No way! I told you _years_ ago that I had plans to go to Carthak, and now we can actually go! We would leave sooner, but the ocean is going to be incredibly bad pretty soon, so close to winter and all. Come on, Alanna, be excited! We're going to Carthak!"

At first Alanna could only stare, but, slowly, the startling news sank in. They were going to Carthak.

---

Jon turned twenty ten days later. During the evening celebrations, Alanna found herself chatting with Alex and Raoul, who both felt overwhelmed by the festivities after their summer of bloodshed. Gary, though still slightly uncomfortable, had met Cythera of Elden earlier that day and seemed smitten with her; Jon, on the other hand, had easily converted back to the old ways and was, once again, dancing with the lovely Delia of Eldorne. Alanna made sure to keep her back to them; somehow seeing them together infuriated her.

"Well, it's good to be back, at any rate," Raoul sighed, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. "Gary seems to be doing relatively well."

Alanna glanced at her dancing friends and laughed. She couldn't tell which one of them was having the most fun. Suddenly, however, a flash of mesmerizing blue cloth caught her eye, and she accidentally found herself staring at Delia. Her stomach knotted, and she meant to look away, but something about the other girl caught her attention. Delia looked irritated, for some reason. Wondering if Jon noticed, Alanna glanced at him and found the problem immediately. He was watching her.

Alanna excused herself to Alex and Raoul and fled to the terrace, then down a staircase to the vast gardens. She needed as much space as possible between herself and that Prince.

It seemed to have worked. She was alone, relaxing, alone, breathing in the delicious scent of moonflowers, _alone_. She couldn't remember ever feeling so very refreshed.

"This can't be right. If I didn't know you to be the strongest, bravest girl I have ever met, I would say you ran away from me in there," a man teased from behind her.

Alanna jumped and spun, and found herself standing just a yard from none other than Jon. "Where did you come from?" she demanded.

He chuckled. "It's amazing what you miss when it's dark out, isn't it?"

She didn't answer, but watched as he took a step closer.

He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "I have to admit, you confuse me, Alanna. How is it that you can face merciless beings like the Ysandir and egotistical bullies like Dain of Melor, but you run when a truth as simple as love is made clear to you?"

"I'm not running away," she protested without thinking.

"No?" he asked, moving closer, reaching up to touch her cheek. "And you don't want to?"

"Jon—" Alanna trembled under his cool fingers.

Jon kissed her, softly. His lips lingered over hers for a moment, and then pulled back an inch. Through a bizarre movement that Alanna had absolutely no control over, she followed him and pressed their mouths together again.

Then it occurred to her that this wasn't a bad thing. This was good. This warm feeling in her stomach and mouth—this was good. Jon holding her, his arms around her waist—this was very good. She relaxed, and slipped her arms up onto his as he held her tighter, and all reasonable thought abandoned her mind.

It didn't come back until she realized Jon was fiddling with the laces of her dress. She pulled away with a terrified gasp. "Jon, no, don't. Kissing's alright, I suppose, but not—not—" She groped for the words, gave up, and shuddered. "Jon, I have to go." And she ran.

"Damn!" she cried, slamming her bedroom door behind her. "Damn, damn, damn, damn!" She couldn't do this—she couldn't. She could not begin to imagine herself undressed in front of Jon, the Prince, her friend, a _man_. She paused, picturing the two of them in bed together, and gave a distressed cry.

"Is everything alright, Alanna?" Jarinth asked from the doorway ajoining their rooms.

Alanna jumped, startled, and then stared at Jarinth. Did she dare say anything? Her mouth answered for her as it gasped, "I was this close—" she showed her thumb and index finger a centimeter apart "—from sleeping with Jon. This close."

Jarinth paused and then grinned. "Congrats! How long have you two been going on?"

"We're not 'going on'!" Alanna squawked. "We're—we're—we only _kissed_," she said helplessly. "And only a little bit!"

_She's really bad at handling herself around him. You'd think sex is some great sin, the way she goes on,_ Faithful commented cruelly from Alanna's bed. Alanna's face burned.

Jarinth glowered at him and snapped, "Cats don't talk!" Then she turned back to Alanna and hugged her. "It's not all that bad, you know. I think you two would be a sweet couple—you'd keep his pride from getting the better of him and he'd… well, he'd make your life interesting."

Alanna sniffed and giggled. "But he's my friend."

"And if he's any good of a friend, he'll remain your friend. Personally, I think you'd be better off with George, but Jon's a fine start."

Alanna started. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, don't deny it. I heard it from Eleni, who got a confession from George himself. He's smitten with you. And the way he looks at you? You'd think you two were engaged already. But, hey, like I said, Jon's a fine start." She paused and chuckled. "You are good, with both ends of the hierarchy falling for you. The Crown Prince and the King of the Thieves. Wow. You must be the definition of royal material."

Alanna laughed outright at this. "That's rich. I'm marrying a diplomat, remember? Remember Carthak?"

"Alanna, you can marry whomever you want and there's no one left that gives a damn, now that your father's gone. You _could_ marry Jon."

The very thought made Alanna reel. Girls at the convent joked about marrying Jon, and here she found herself kissing him in the gardens on his birthday. She shook her head. How had she gotten herself into this? More importantly, how was she going to get out again?

She bit her lip. "Do you think I should sleep with Jon?"

"By all means, please do."

Alanna frowned. "Really?"

"Go on to Jon, now, Alanna. And have fun," Jarinth urged gently.

Jon had also returned to his rooms after their meeting in the gardens, and answered the door when she knocked. He paused only for a moment before pulling her in, locking the door, and kissing her fiercely.


	24. Demon Grey

CHAPTER 24: Demon Grey

That winter, the biting winds and constant snowfalls didn't torture the Tortallan people alone: wild animals also turned desperate and began preying on humans for their meals. A certain wolf, dubbed Demon Grey, was becoming largely infamous; even when the majority of the other beasts had been killed, he had lost only an eye to a bowman. Finally, after a young baby fell victim to his ravaging hunger that February, the king decided to take action. Every man capable of handling a spear was to report outside at dawn in two days' time to hunt down the murderous creature. The morning before, Duke Gareth decided that Alanna should tag along too.

"You're as good as any knight, and probably better than some. Why shouldn't you come along?" he said briskly.

"Because it'll be cold, and I hate the cold," Alanna whined under her breath, though positively glowing at his compliment.

So, the next morning, to the men's dismay, she sat out in the yard, bundled up tightly in layers of snow gear. When Douglass commented on her presence, she simply waved an arm dismissively. "I'm just along for the ride."

Duke Roger rode up on her other side, the strangest expression on his face. "You are taking this seriously, though, surely? It's not just a ride in the woods with the boys."

Alanna didn't look at him in fear of betraying her utter hatred through her eyes. "Of course, my lord. I would never treat something like this as a game."

"Oh, leave her alone, guys," Jonathan told them. "Alanna knows her stuff. She's proved that many times before now—you know that."

The two of them exchanged grins, and then the group headed out on the hunt. At first, it seemed almost like a game—the boys joked, laughed, and started snowball fights. But then, around midday, one of the soldiers spotted a fresh trail of wolf tracks. Voices hushed, and bows and spears were readjusted to more efficient positions. A half an hour later, a bowman took a wolf down, but it wasn't Demon Grey.

The large group separated into smaller ones, branching out and communicating through horn calls. Sometime around two o'clock in the afternoon, Raoul, in Alanna's group with Gary, Jon, Alex, Roger, Douglass, Sacherell and Geoffrey, found enormous paw prints that could not possibly belong to a wolf. Alarmed, they ventured cautiously into the trees where the prints led. Alanna squeezed her ember-stone for comfort and stuck to the back of the group with the nervous squires.

A small growl was their only warning. Alanna spun around with a gasp just in time to see a gigantic brown bear swipe an equally gigantic paw across Douglass' face, knocking him head-over-heels off his horse. Pure reflex made her throw a handful of Gift-fire at its head. Just before hitting its mark, however, it collided with an orange mist shot from behind her. She watched in shock as the two Gifts slammed into one another and exploded in a blood-red burst of sparks just in front of the bear's face, causing it to roar, turn, and flee. It dropped to the ground ten feet away, riddled with arrows. The archers emerged from behind trees, while still more hunters hurried to help Douglass up from the ground.

Alanna could only stare at the place where her Gift and the orange one—Roger's, probably—had collided. Suddenly everything was becoming clear. Whenever her violet magic mixed with Roger's orange—like now, and when she had healed Jarinth—it came out blood red. She also knew that blood red magic had splattered the palace repairs and that it had run in the Queen's veins during her strange illness. And if she assumed that Roger's orange Gift had something to do with those situations, then a violet Gift had to be present too, in order to cause the new color. Since she knew she herself had not contributed, she could only deduct that someone else with her same Gift-color had. And only one other mage existed with her Gift-color that she knew of: her brother, Thom.

"My apologies, Alanna," Roger chuckled. "I hadn't realized you would react the same way I did, or I would have aimed elsewhere."

Alanna looked up at him and found herself staring straight into his gorgeous blue eyes. She found herself staring into eyes that stared ruthlessly back, studying, questioning, testing—and she knew even before the small smile touched his lips that he had seen right through her, right through her suspicions, fears, and knowledge about him and his ways. He knew that she knew about him.

"Alright, you lot," Duke Gareth announced, trotting up as if his leg weren't stiff from its break at Drell River Valley. "Good job with the bear, but we're splitting up, now. Jon, take Meron and go with those men over there. Gary, take Veldine and head east with these hunters. Raoul, Alex, and Wellam you two join the group heading north. Trebond, you and Roger will come with me. We're going to double back and see if old Demon Grey is following us, because we don't seem to be following him. Now, remember: no heroics. If you see something, then you yell. You guys aren't experienced enough to take down that Chaos-sent beast on your own. Gods bless, and let's go."

Alanna kept Duke Gareth in between herself and Roger, bracing herself against her heavy fear of Jon's cousin. At the same time, Duke Gareth taught her the finer points of hunting, and she hung onto every word to take her mind off Roger, who watched her constantly out of the corner of his eye. An hour later, from a clump of trees closest to Roger, something growled. Alanna brought up her bow as Duke Gareth held a finger to his lips, creeping slowly towards the trees.

Suddenly, however, the same growl repeated from behind a different tree two yards from Alanna. All three of them turned to face it, just as a snarl erupted from Duke Gareth's trees and the duke dropped under an enormous grey ball of fur.

"Your Grace!" Alanna shrieked, lunging forward, but suddenly was slammed to the ground under another monstrous, snarling weight. Her bow slipped from her hands.

Sharp teeth wrenched her hat off her head and scraped painfully across her scalp. She screamed and rolled, dumping the animal in the snow. He barked furiously and jumped back at her, but hit her awaiting sword. The blade speared his shoulder, and he howled and shied away, taking Lightning with him. Alanna glimpsed his face only long enough to see an empty left eye socket. She had found Demon Grey.

Now crazy with fury, he lunged at her again. Unarmed, she flung herself to the side, but not quickly enough. He slammed into her ribcage, knocking the breath from her lungs. Mind reeling with panic and pain, Alanna groped for her knife. She found it just as Demon Grey yanked at her arm. She blindly swiped and managed to hit fur; he released her arm with a yelp.

She turned as the wolf leapt again, and threw herself into his flying body, knocking him back and plunging her knife into his chest. Teeth sank into her shoulder; claws tore at her face. She screamed and yanked the dagger out to stab again once—twice—three times—

His body froze, shuddered, and went limp. Too faint and pained to do anything else, she fell as he did. Her vision blurred; her shoulder, head, face, and side all throbbed sharply. She closed her eyes and gasped for breath.

"Alanna? Alanna, are you alright?" someone cried.

Her head swam. Who was talking? What had they said?

"Here's—er—_the_ _girl's_ necklace…," a gruff voice murmured, and someone shoved something into her hand. "Must've broke when Demon bit 'er."

"Thank you, Hunter. Trebond, open your eyes. Look at me, Trebond."

That voice belonged to Duke Gareth. Alanna opened her eyes. White snow and blazing sunlight blinded her. A shadow moved over her, though, and she recognized the duke's face. She opened her mouth and winced as the slashes in her cheek responded angrily.

"Trebond, are you alright?" Duke Gareth asked firmly.

She stared at him blankly, and then blinked. What? She looked around. Mounted hunters surrounded her, staring. Roger stood there too. For some reason, he glowed orange.

It took her but a moment to remember the necklace in her hand—her ember-stone. Knowing Roger, the glow couldn't mean anything pleasant. She sat up, ignoring the pain, and skimmed the surroundings wildly. What else glowed orange? Her eyes fell on Demon Grey, just beside her, and another frighteningly large wolf—Duke Gareth's attacker—lying, dead, yards away.

She glanced at Duke Gareth, who supported her back and watched her, waiting for an answer. Though alive, he sported gashes on his neck, shoulder, arm, and chest. He looked terrible.

Roger had just tried to kill them both, and failed.

"Yes, sir," she answered firmly. "Yes, I'm alright."

---

Back at the palace, Alanna called for a meeting with Jarinth and the Coopers immediately to relay her story. She ended with a shudder, rubbing Lightning's hilt for comfort.

Jarinth stared. "So he's already trying to kill you. Alanna, that's not good. We need to get you out of here."

Eleni nodded. "He'll find you less of a threat and will leave you in peace, more or less, if you're not around."

"What?" Alanna cried indignantly. "Run away? I can't just leave Jon to Roger's mercy!"

"You're not the only one protecting Jon, lass," George cut in firmly. "I have my birds watching him, and there's Gary, Raoul, Duke Gareth, and Duke Baird. Roger will not try for Jon's head as much as he'll try for yours until his defenses have been diminished."

"When do you intend to leave?" Eleni asked briskly.

"As soon as possible. Next week. This week."

"Tomorrow," George corrected. "You need to get out fast. If we're lucky, Roger will think you're running away."

Alanna didn't think the gravity of the situation had quite hit her. Everyone else spoke so seriously, and she already felt like the wolves had been a dream. "Where will we go?"

"Um… the west coast. We're planning on going to Carthak this spring, but our ship doesn't leave until May. We'll go to Caynn and take the Coastal Way through Legann to Port Saragin."

Alanna shifted anxiously. She had forgotten. Though apprehensive of their voyage to Carthak, she was even more anxious to reach Saragin and talk to Duke Nathaniel, the last known person to have seen her brother.

"Sounds good," Eleni agreed, nodding solemnly.

"So, tomorrow, dawn, we're heading for Port Caynn."

Alanna trembled, staring down in her lap. Tomorrow, and then no more George, Myles, Jon, or any of the others. She didn't want to leave. Corus had become her home.

"Come on, Alanna," George finally sighed, easing himself from his chair. "Let's go get your and Jarinth's horses ready. You need to get back to pack."

Alanna glumly followed him out the door. Silently, they saddled the mounts, but before they returned to the women, George caught her arm. "A word, if I may."

She winced and nodded. She hadn't told George about Jon, but still had no doubt that he knew why her nightly visits to the Dove had ceased. She didn't want to know how awkward it would be to discuss this with him when his own feelings for her were so clear.

"Listen, lass, we don't have time to beat about the bush. I know about you and Jon. But I just want you to know that there aren't any hard feelings between us, if that's what you want."

Alanna sighed in relief, a hundred pounds vanishing from her shoulders. "Thanks, George."

"I also want you to know that, if anything goes awry with Jon, I'll still be waiting for you. I'm patient like that for the lass I love."

She hugged him. "I'll miss you."

"Take care of yourself, lass."


	25. On the Road Again

CHAPTER 25: On the Road Again

Alanna, with Faithful buried in her packs, rode cautiously out of the city the next morning in the freezing grey hour before dawn. The cutting wind slashed at her bowed face, and the falling snow added to the icy layer covering the ground. They closely followed Jarinth and her mount, Bella, as if death awaited any stragglers of their small group. The road to Port Caynn proved long, cold, and wet, and Alanna's mood was not much sunnier than the weather. By the time they arrived, her face felt frozen in a furious scowl. She just wanted to get to the wayhouse, defrost her stiff body in a hot bath; and sink into a warm, soft bed to sleep. No more of this walk-all-day-in-the-cold, eat-cold-food, sleep-in-a-frozen-sleeping-bag nonsense. She wanted _heat_.

The sun had already vanished as they wandered down the silent, empty streets of Caynn. Even the beggars had shown a fleck of sense and crept away to where the snow couldn't find them.

"Cheer up, Alanna—only fifteen more minutes," Jarinth announced. She didn't try to decipher the responding growl.

However, they never managed to reach the wayhouse. Seconds after they turned onto the sidestreet leading to the inn, they glimpsed a muffled yelp from the alleyway to their right.

Alanna groaned. If this was a scuffle, she would scream….

It was, and though she didn't scream, she did bellow rather loudly at the sight of two gigantic boulders of men towering over a trembling lump on the ground. All three turned to glance at her, and the smaller of the two thugs—a burly, unshaven brute—laughed.

"Ah, company!" He waved to her, and beckoned. "C'mere, lassie. We don't bite."

"No," she spat, "but I do."

They only had time to frown in confusion before she whipped out Lightning and strode towards them.

"Wait, 'old on!" the other—a drunkard—cried thickly. "Ain't you a girl?"

Alanna walloped him across the face with the flat of her blade. He gasped, teetered, and fell.

"You bitch!" his partner shrieked, lunging for her. She slammed Lightning's hilt to his temple, and he, too, dropped to the ground.

"Oh, Alanna," Jarinth gasped, laughing. "You're so funny when you're angry."

Alanna's face burned, and only a moan from the ground beside them kept her from barking back crossly: they had a patient to tend to. A tall, lean man dressed in a gentleman's elaborate boots, hose, shirt, tunic, and hat slumped in the snow, a dark splotch of blood staining the ground beneathe him. Alanna could only sigh at the sight; she did not feel like healing just then.

The blood trickled sluggishly from his head, which had struck the brick wall fencing the alley—hardly a fatal injury. The healing shouldn't have required too much energy, but Alanna suffered from lack of heat and sleep, which turned the trivial chore into back-breaking labor. To piece the broken mess together left her drained and more irritable than ever. As the man slowly gained consciousness, she left Jarinth to deal with him and burrowed deep into her snow gear a few feet away to wait to move on.

Only a few minutes passed before Jarinth returned, smiling grandly. Alanna inwardly groaned—something had happened to please Jarinth, and that could not be good.

"I guess I'll learn to thank your fiery temper. It has its advantages. You just risked your neck to save Sir Aidan of Queenscove, husband of the former Lady Catherine of Saragin. He's too weak to move and was wondering if we could possibly give him a lift back to Saragin House, where the family has gathered to celebrate the naming ceremony of his new son."

Alanna's eyes widened. A family party at Saragin House! That meant Duke Nathaniel of Saragin was there, and she could ask him about Thom!

It took a good half hour to reach Saragin House; however, on arriving, Alanna found the grand courtyard and majestic mansion worth the interminable trip. The four guards at the gate mimicked the house's regality as they quickly glanced at Aidan slumped on Bella's back and didn't react at all besides opening the gates and bowing them in. Then two maids strode outside—no shocked or panicked hurry, just elegant speed—and quickly escorted Aidan out of sight. Another two maids politely suggested that Alanna and Jarinth follow them into the house as hostlers disappeared with Moonlight and Bella.

Inside, warmth seeped pleasurably into Alanna's skin. The air twinkled with laughter, countered pleasantly by the murmur of chatter from an invisible soirée. A sharp right from the gilded entryway brought them to an ornate parlor. Moments later, a lady in silver and blue silk glided into the room, her lips formed into a perfect, charming smile. "Lady Jarinth of Marinstha, it's been ages since we've last spoken! I'm honored to have you here tonight, and thank you so much for helping Aidan. He just told me what happened. Please know that we're forever in your debt. I'm so pleased you found him!"

Jarinth laughed. "It's not as if you've never done anything for me before, Amelia. Besides, it's Alanna who actually saved him."

Amelia—Alanna recognized that name. Amelia of Saragin (formerly of Cavall) was Nathaniel's mother.

Alanna blushed and ducked her head as Lady Amelia's eyes slipped to her poor, pathetic body. The woman smiled. "Ah, yes, the famous Alanna. There's no end of talk about you, and now I know why. Thank you very, very much, my dear. If there's anything I can do to repay you, don't hesitate to let me know." She paused, and then nodded. "Now then, we can't leave our guests standing here like outsiders. The maids should be done preparing baths for you two by now. Then, you can eat and sleep."

Alanna and Jarinth both slept in for hours the next morning. Afterwards, they sat down to a steaming breakfast and then jumped at a sharp, brisk rap on the door. Knowing servants didn't knock like that, Alanna and Jarinth leapt to their feet just before a young man identical to his knock—sharp and brisk—entered the room.

"Good morning," he greeted, more polite than welcoming. "I'm Nathaniel of Saragin." A chill slipped down Alanna's spine; she tensed. Apparently noting her inconspicuous behavior, Nathaniel jerked a nod. "I expected that you would like a word with me, one I'm only too willing to give after your gracious acts for my brother-in-law. But, first, I hope you're enjoying your stay?"

Jarinth bowed. "We are, Your Grace, very much. Thank you."

"No need to thank me. I'm sure we're entirely in your debt. I would just like to make it clear to you that my home is your home as long as you wish."

"We're honored, Your Grace."

He jerked another nod and gestured to the chairs. "Then let us sit and talk."

Alanna knew many written works referred to the Saragin family as "a stone wall," but she had never taken them as literally as, apparently, she should have. Nathaniel, a lean, muscular man who stood about five foot ten, had an iron rod for a spine. His outfit—from the black boots with silver fastenings to the dark blue jerkin with silver embroidery—all appeared starched, so contrary to the rustling silk of Court. Black hair settled formidably on his shoulders, blue eyes cold and calculating, mouth permanently angled down: the daunting commander of the Queen's Navy.

"I believe you want me to tell of my encounter with Thom."

"Yes, please, Your Grace," Alanna replied breathlessly, her heart pounding. She could hardly breathe. Thom was alive.

"Last April, Thom of Trebond paid twice the required amount for a prompt session with me and offered another exorbitant price for simply my signature. We met on a Sunday, when I didn't have many other clients, at one o'clock. I had a truthsayer—a black-robe, Jade Colbin—test to see if Thom was indeed Thom and if he was truly the heir to Trebond. Apparently Lord Alan failed to change his will, so Thom was still listed as the heir. So, three hours later, I signed the paper. He left, and Captain Matthew Andrews of the merchant ship _Maiden_ claims Thom left with him later that afternoon. _Maiden_ was headed for Carthak."

Alanna and Jarinth exchanged glances. Carthak.

---

In the gorgeous May weather, their ship sailed from Port Saragin to Carthak in only two weeks; to Alanna, it felt like so much more, since she threw up the entire way. In Carthak, the plaguing heat forced her to adopt the southern oufits, which multiplied the small breeze and whose sandals kept her feet cool. She and Jarinth moved into a room in the Carthaki University, where they bumped into old friends of Jarinth's around every corner. It shocked Alanna to find that most of them recognized her. Even more terrifying was that none of them immediately believed her to be a girl. Instead, they all mistook her for Thom. Apparently, he had shown up six years ago and buried himself in his studies. Not the brightest lad, he had returned to Tortall last spring for a break. No one had seen him since.

"Weird," Alanna commented, pushing her food around her plate at dinner on their second night. "Didn't Duke Nathaniel say _Maiden_ came back here?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean Thom came back," Jarinth pointed out. "We already know he's excelled in the area of simulacrums. What I don't understand is how they can say he wasn't very bright when we know he's done so much. He might have had someone else do it, but why hasn't that someone stood up? Perhaps Thom faked stupid for some reason, but why?"

"Maybe he didn't want to attract attention," Alanna suggested.

"Whose attention? If he didn't want to be found by Tortall, he should have disguised himself. We know he didn't, since everyone could recognize you."

Alanna sighed. She had no idea.

---

Two weeks in Carthak did wonders for Alanna's accent and vocabulary, so Jarinth began allowing her out on her own. One evening after an afternoon of shopping in the marketplace, she returned to find Jarinth dressed in a fine dinnergown in front of a mirror, battling with her hair.

"Just after you left I got a dinner invitation from Duke Hanno Mago, an old friend of mine. We studied together here at the university. He apologizes for not inviting us sooner, but he just heard we were in town today. There's a bath ready for you and a gown on your bed. Hanno's a good but picky friend. Please try to look your best; I'd like to try to impress, not disgust, him."

"Hello to you too," Alanna sighed. She was sick of meeting Jarinth's friends—they were all disgustingly wealthy and elaborate. Though listening to her teacher chat with old buddies had initially fascinated her, she now wanted nothing more than to eat alone and quietly for once.

She obediently decked herself out in a dark blue dress—Tortallan style, popular in the south—and touched a few cosmetics to her lips.

When they arrived at Duke Hanno's townhouse, a slave bowed them inside and to the parlor. Alanna had to gasp at her first glimpse of the house's decor. Outside, it flaunted the same ornate characteristics as every other Carthaki house but, inside, adopted a Tortallan look. Woven rugs replaced fur ones, tapestries covered the walls, and torch lamps provided all the light—however sufficient, they offered no competition to the magic lamps Carthakis normally used.

Jarinth nodded when Alanna, confused, pointed these details out. "Hanno was born in Tortall, but moved here to attend the university. He likes these reminders of his old home."

Just then, a white-haired man—about Jarinth's age—strode into the parlor and cried out jovially, "Jarinth!"

Jarinth laughed and embraced him. "Hanno! It's so good to see you again. Thank you for inviting us; we're honored to be here. Let me introduce my student, Lady Alanna of Trebond."

Hanno kissed her hand. "I'm delighted, Alanna. I remember hearing a little about your brother, but I'm sorry to say I never met him."

Alanna curtsied politely, smiling at their tall, slender host. She liked him. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"Oh, don't bother with that! 'Hanno' is fine, please. Are you two hungry? Dinner is ready, if you'd like to eat."

"I, personally, am famished," Jarinth replied.

"Then let's eat! This way." He led them from the parlor, down a hall, up a flight of stairs, and down another hall, passing scores of closed doors along the way. Alanna tagged along behind Jarinth and Hanno as they chatted and laughed.

After dinner, they returned to the parlor to play chess and gossip. Around eight-thirty, Jarinth dozed off. Alanna stared, clueless to what could possibly have made her so tired, and then commented, "If she's this exhausted, we should get home."

"Why not just let her sleep? It's no trouble to me. In fact, why don't the two of you stay the night? If she's this tired, we don't know when she'll wake up."

Alanna bit her lip, thinking quickly, and then smiled politely. "Let me see if she's just dozing off or really out cold…." She gently jostled Jarinth's shoulder. "Jarinth? Jarinth?" Jarinth didn't even twitch.

"I guess that settles it," Hanno remarked cheerfully and clapped his hands to summon two slaves. "Prepare the Blue Room for Alanna to sleep in, and find anything else she needs."

Alanna could only thank him for his hospitality.

The next morning, the slaves had a hot bath and simple cream and light blue day dress waiting for her when she awoke. After dressing, she went to check up on Jarinth in the adjacent room, wondering what in the world had made her so drowsy. At first, she knocked on the door—quietly, then louder—but, if Jarinth heard, she didn't show it. Sighing, Alanna let herself in and strode over to the bed where, indeed, Jarinth still lay with the covers pulled up around her ears.

"Come on, sleepy head, time to wake up," she laughed, shaking her. Jarinth didn't budge. "Oh, Jarinth, what about impressing and not disgusting poor Hanno? Come on, Jarinth!"

Alanna yanked back the covers and blanched.

Dark blood stained the pillows and sheets around Jarinth's head, though her back bore no visible cut. "Oh Goddess," she gasped. Panicking, she reached down and rolled Jarinth—pale, cold, and stiff Jarinth—onto her back, and then stumbled backwards when she saw the knife slash crossing her throat. "Jarinth!" she shrieked. Heart pounding, she bolted from the room and down the hall to Hanno's study, which he had pointed out to her the night before. She burst through the door without knocking.

"Jarinth's dead!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face.

He glanced up from the book in his lap and peered over his reading glasses. "Oh, yes, I know. I killed her."

Then something collided with the back of her head, and everything went black.


	26. Caged

CHAPTER 26: Caged

Alanna blinked sluggishly, her thoughts sloshing around in her mind like wet paper. Her head pounded hard with her heart. She felt cramped. She was lying on something hard. Where was Jarinth? She sat up and bonked her head on a metal bar as the ground lurched. She gasped and clamped her arms around her stomach until the swaying ceased. Only then did she risk a glance around.

Her surroundings were unrecognizable. She was in a red room, sitting in a cage—a bird cage, complete with the round top, three feet wide and just as high. Peering over the edge of the floor revealed a shocking fifteen-foot drop to the ground. A glance up confirmed her suspicions: she was hanging from a ceiling.

"_Alanna_?" a man choaked hoarsely.

Alanna jerked her eyes to her right, where a cage identical to her own hung three feet away. Long, straggly curls of copper topped a pale man who, by his lean body, could only be a scholar—perhaps a mage. His eyes skirted wildly, and he kept jerking as if to rid himself of an ever-persistent fly.

"Don't you recognize me?" he gasped.

She squinted, struggling to keep him in focus as her mind continued to tumble around and around and around in her head. She rubbed her eyes, looked again, and then gaped. A masculine replica of herself, right down to her purple eyes, stared back.

"Thom?" she cried.

"Mithros, Alanna, what—" he interrupted himself with a coughing fit that lasted too long, then heaved, "What the Chaos are you doing you here? You have no chance against Hanno—he'll kill you!"

She drew back at the mention of killing as it let loose an onslaught of memories. Suddenly she remembered where Jarinth was. Alanna pulled her knees to her chin, wrapped her arms around her legs, and sat completely still as the image of her dead teacher burned a hole in her mind.

Steps sounded from below, sharply echoing up to them. Someone laughed. "Ho-ho, she's awake!" the voice of Hanno called tauntingly. "Good afternoon, Alanna! Come now, we're not still mourning Jarinth, are we? We mustn't do _that_. She's dead, dear, and she's not coming back." Fresh tears streamed from Alanna's eyes. When she didn't scream in reply, he chuckled and left again.

"Alanna?" Thom whispered. "Alanna, he said 'Jarinth'—"

"Not Jarinth of Marinstha, surely?" someone gasped.

Too forlorn to be shocked by the unknown voice, Alanna turned to her left, where another cage hung, this time trapping a brown Carthaki. He spoke unaccented Common despite his foreign appearance. A scabbed gash sliced his cheek in half, and his left arm rested in a sling.

Alanna nodded glumly. "She's dead."

"Jarinth's _dead_?" a woman yelped.

This voice had come from her right, from Thom's direction. When she glanced at him—wincing, because he looked more ragged with every passing second—he ducked, and she spotted a blond Tortallan behind him. Behind _her_ hung another man—brown-haired, this time. A glance to her left revealed even more cages of people. She turned back to Thom, awed. "What _is_ this?"

"This is Duke Hanno Mago's prison. Welcome!" the woman behind Thom greeted for him, however dryly.

"We've all somehow gotten on his bad side, and now here we are. Hi, I'm Razi Ofir. I spoke out against slavery. I've been here for about a month." The Carthaki with the impeccable accent bowed.

"I'm Jenna Kent," the blond woman introduced herself. "I'm a Tortallan spy, like the majority of us here. I've been here for about six months."

Alanna waved weakly to both of them. This was crazy. She turned to Thom. "How and when did _you_ get here, may I ask?"

"I've been here for about a year," he answered, looking away. Alanna got the picture that she was touching a sore spot for him. "I had a run-in with a friend of mine, Roger of Conté."

"_What_?" Alanna cried. "You were friends with Roger?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Alanna turned to Razi for an explanation of her brother's behavior. Razi shrugged with his good shoulder. "He's been dwelling on it for a year, Alanna. Nobody knows what happened."

"But what has Roger got to do with any of it?"

"Oo, I know! I know!" Jenna cried. Somehow Alanna had a hard time believing she had been living in this Chaos-sent prison for an entire six months. "Hanno works for Roger. Apparently he thinks he'll be Roger's right-hand man when Roger's king—do you know about that? How Roger is going to be king?"

"Roger is not going to be king," Alanna countered flatly.

"I'll take that as a yes, you do know. And, yes, actually, I'm pretty sure he is."

"No, he's not. Jon has a ton of people protecting him—Raoul, Gary, Jarinth—" A flood of grief washed over her, raising the hairs on her arms and trickling coolly down her spine. Jarinth was dead.

Jenna sent her a consoling look. "Come on, honey—I know you're unhappy about Jarinth, but she's dead. You have to move on."

"I can't believe I was so stupid!" Alanna cried furiously, ignoring the rocking of her cage as she punched the air. "I should've known something was up when she fell asleep last night. He probably drugged her or something."

"Yes, Alanna, you made a stupid mistake," Razi said firmly. "Someone under your care died. Learn from your mistakes and don't repeat them. There are other lives in the world to save."

Jenna glowered at him. "Why tell her that? You make it sound as if there's a chance she'll get out of here and ever get to save those lives."

Alanna didn't hear this comment, though, stunned as she was by Razi's words. He was right: mourning over Jarinth wasn't going to help anyone. And with one of the royal family's most powerful guardians dead, half the trouble of killing the king was gone too. Roald, Lianne, Jon, and even Tortall as a whole needed her to get out of here and help them. She nodded. She needed to think.

"Why are we still alive?" she asked abruptly. "I mean, what's the point?"

"There's no point," Razi replied, shaking his head sadly. "Hanno just knows that dead people can't suffer. He likes causing us pain. It goes to show how big a threat Jarinth was that he killed her. Every evening, now, he takes one of us and… _plays_ with us, for lack of a better word. It's horrible." He shuddered and hugged himself with his right arm. Alanna wondered what had happened to his left limb. "He also likes to keep us handy, in case we're needed. He can always kill us later, but he can't bring us back from the dead. Sometimes Roger comes, too. He grabs one of us and leaves again. _That_ person is never seen again. And you, Thom, and I, along with a couple others here, could make good ransoms, if needed."

"So, more or less, we're alive today because Hanno is a pack rat," Jenna summed up cheerfully.

Alanna rubbed her head. The first step to escaping was getting out of these cages. She twisted around and found herself staring straight at a lock that held down the top half of the cage. She studied it for a moment, noting its insane simplicity, and then reached for her Gift—and gasped when she couldn't. Her magic was gone. The pool of power within her was inaccessible, blocaded by—

"A dampener spell," Thom told her quietly. "I know; I've tried."

Alanna grabbed for her ember-stone, and her stomach lurched when her hand met only cloth. She glanced down and swore. Before, she hadn't realized it. Now, she was quite aware of how, besides her breastband, loincloth, and shift, she was naked. Her dress, shoes, and jewelry were all gone.

"There has to be another way out of here," she cried.

"There isn't," Jenna replied. "I even had hairpins in here at one time, but they didn't do anything but burn me, because the locks melt metal."

"What we need is an _outside_ person," Alanna thought aloud.

"That's asking a lot. Even if you screamed really, really loud, you wouldn't attract anyone, because the room is magicked to keep all sound inside."

Alanna groaned, and leaned her face against one of the cage's cool bars. How had she managed to get herself into this mess?

Just then, a door squealed open below them, and the hated voice of Duke Hanno called up as jovially as ever, "Hello, my dears! How has your afternoon been? I do hope you don't mind my interrupting the festivities, but I have work to do with one of you. Hm, let's see, who should it be today?" As he spoke, the cages detached from the ceiling and began to lower, as if of their own accord, to the ground, periodically jerking nastily. Alanna cradled her pitching stomach and clamped her eyes shut until a bang assured her arrival to the ground; had she anything in her stomach, she would have thrown it up. On her sides, Thom and Razi didn't seem affected at all, as if used to it.

"Should we choose… our newbie, dearest Alanna?" Hanno swooped in on her, and she jumped; he swept away again, laughing. "Surely you've heard of our game here, Alanna. We do it everyday. Once a night I come in here, I take one of you, and we play games for a bit. Then I bring you back here, and you can't look me in the eye ever again. Would you like to try, dearest Alanna?" She glowered silently, and he raised his eyebrows. Slowly, he came towards her. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that you have to be careful doing that to your face, because it might stick that way?" He reached into the cage to touch her face. She tried to evade him but lacked the space. His finger trailed down her cheek, and she shuddered; he smiled. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes, I think I'm going to play with you tonight."

He stood up briskly and motioned to Alanna. "I'll take her." His two slaves, from their posts at the door, started forward.

"No!" Thom suddenly shouted. Alanna glanced at him, startled; he didn't look like he had enough energy for such a volume. "No, you can't take her; she can't do it. You'll kill her, you bastard; you'll kill her!" With that, he collapsed in the little space he had, too weak to hold himself up.

Nobody listened anyway. Hanno's slaves opened Alanna's cage, chained her hands together, and yanked her out of the cell. At first she fell to her knees, too stiff to walk. But as they jerked and kicked, she forced herself first to rise to her feet and then take a trembling step forward. It occurred to her to attack with magic, but, when she tried, she found the dampener spell still haunting her.

"You can do this, Alanna!" Jenna suddenly cried.

"Yes, Alanna, you _can_ survive this," Razi echoed.

Hanno just smiled. "Of course you can survive it," he told her kindly. "What's the point of filling you with pain if you're not alive to feel it?"


	27. Playing Games

CHAPTER 27: Playing Games

The slaves led her out into the hall, and she found herself just four doors from Jarinth's room. The reminder of her teacher made tears leak from her eyes, and Hanno laughed.

"We have new toys for you today," he announced, unlocking the door directly across from the cages. "Your friends will be surprised when they see you—they won't recognize your marks."

Alanna's stomach tied itself into a heavy knot. This man was going to hurt her, and she would not be able to defend herself. She closed her eyes and shuddered. Again, Hanno laughed.

The walls of the new room were painted black. A glowing brazier in the middle of the chamber provided the only light. Around it lay numerous torture devices, many of which she recognized. The rack—where victims were made a certain height either through stretching or having their legs chopped off—and the wheel—beneathe which limbs were smashed completely—were both present, to her horror. She went limp at the sight of the pointed, cruel gadgets lined on the racks against the walls and could only stand numbly as the slaves stripped her of her shift, leaving her in just a breastband and loincloth, and then locked her hands two feet apart above her head in shackles dangling from the ceiling. Then, the slaves left. She watched as Hanno tossed his key up into the air and then set it on the table next to the door before turning to her, grinning evilly.

"Let me explain how things are done here, just to fill you in. First of all, note the open doors of both this room and the cage room. This allows for the sound of your screams to be heard by your friends, but because they are situated in such a way that they can't see you, they have no way to know what's happening. That brings us to our second point: our jobs. My job is to hurt you a lot—either through burning, or shattering of limbs, or poking pointy objects into places you don't want them to be poked, or whatever—" he waved his hand dismissively "—I don't really care, as long as it hurts and humiliates you. _Your_ job is to scream really, really loudly. That's easier than my job. I have to work; you don't. Your job comes naturally."

He glanced at her and smiled. "I should tell you that this is my favorite part. You don't know what's coming, you have no idea how long it's going to last, you can't run, and you can't make it stop. In most torture rooms, the torturer is looking for something—a confession, a piece of information, etcetera. I'm not. I'm just doing this for fun. I won't stop until the show is over.

"Now, I'm really excited for this toy. It was delivered to me just this morning, and I was so excited because I knew I had a new, fresh friend to help me play with it. Isn't it gorgeous?" He held up his device, and when Alanna saw it, she immediately wished she hadn't. It was like a whip, just that in place of the leather strip, three chains of rectangular iron links dangled from a wood handle. Her stomach churned. "These chains are designed to dig deep into your skin and pull out chunks of flesh. Even if you were to see a healer—which, by the way, you won't—you'd still have scars. It's said that, in a normal torture room—where the victim has a valuable piece of information, as I mentioned earlier—the victim is talking after three strikes." He paused, and frowned. "That sounds like I'm promising something, doesn't it? I'm not. We're most _definitely_ not stopping at three strikes." He grinned. "I'm so excited, aren't you?"

Alanna fainted, but woke with a shriek as sharp teeth sank into her back and then tore out again. She felt blood stream from gigantic wounds as her back blazed with pain, and she sobbed. "Oh, Goddess, oh, please, Goddess."

"Your beloved goddess isn't going to help you, dear," Hanno told her sadly. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "Your goddess _can't_ help you."

Alanna tried to brace herself for the next blow she knew was coming, but she hurt so, so, so badly….

Suddenly, a bellow from behind her echoed throughout the room, mingled with a cat's warcry. Alanna jumped. "What the—?" Even as it made her back burn ever more despairingly, Alanna twisted around to see what had happened. To her confusion, Hanno clawed at a black furball of a cat attached to his face. He stumbled backwards, and ran straight into a rack of gadgets, which tumbled forward on top of him. At the same time, his attacker launched from his face and raced to hop up on the table by the door and grab the key. In all its speed, Alanna managed to glimpse purple eyes.

Faithful paused only for a moment at Alanna's feet, where he pondered on how to get the key to her locks. In a moment, however, he had reached his decision. _Sorry, Alanna_, he growled around his mouth's burden as he reached up and sank his claws into her flesh, earning a yelp from her. Slowly, he climbed to her left shoulder; behind them, Hanno—who had apparently been knocked out for a few seconds—suddenly began thrashing and swearing, chucking small devices in every direction.

Through straining on both their parts, Alanna finally managed to reach her right hand to Faithful's mouth and grab the key. In a second, her left hand was free, then her right. Hanno roared when he saw this, and, immediately, the pounding feet of slaves could be heard on the stairs. Alanna skimmed the room wildly as she searched for some weapon.

_There—a stick_, Faithful pointed out, bounding from her shoulder and dashing across the floor. Sure enough, a thin, long iron bar leaned on the brazier. Grabbing it, Alanna turned around just in time to face the first slave in the doorway. He stared at her for a moment, and then grabbed the nearest gadget off a rack and flung it at her. She ducked, sprang forward, and walloped him across the head with the bar. He fell. When the other slave appeared, she smacked him, too. Behind her, she heard Hanno free himself from his mess and jump to his feet. In a flash he had drawn his sword.

_Oh damn_, she thought. _He has a real weapon_.

Hanno sneered at her. "Did you really think you'd get far without backup? You have a kitty and a stick. I have the strength, the brains, and the sword. Give up, Alanna, and I might let you live."

"Go to Chaos, you son of a bitch," she snapped.

He lunged for her; she blocked him clumsily with old reflexes. It only occurred to her now that she hadn't fenced since leaving Tortall over a month ago. To her surprise, though, she seemed to unnerve him. Apparently she still had some skill.

Then he struck again, and again. Alanna blocked him both times and let him push her back. She remembered to step over the fallen slave, and then she guided herself through the doorway, out of the room, so the torture devices would not get in their way. In the hallway, she felt too cramped to do any real damage, so she continued to back up into the cage room. Dimly she heard her fellow captives screaming and cheering her on. Gradually, however, her mind focused on Hanno and only Hanno.

In the open space, Alanna realized that Hanno was no swordsman. At first, she feared a magical attack, but then realized that he couldn't afford to distract himself with spells—he had to concentrate on her bludgeoning bar. Though strong, he attacked awkwardly, simply slamming his sword wherever. She struggled to dominate the fight solely because of his height. He towered over her like Raoul, and she hadn't fenced anyone that tall for years. Slowly, however, old lessons refreshed themselves in her mind, and she finally managed to pull an old trick that Ali had taught her. After spinning Hanno's head with a torrent of fancy and unnecessary dips and turns, she slashed to the right and simultaneously ducked under his left elbow. From behind, she clubbed him on the head. He fell like a rock.


	28. The Aftermath

CHAPTER 28: The Aftermath

Soft sunlight peered in through yellow curtains that fluttered in the slight bleeze. Kind warmth enveloped her like a mother. Silence hummed a solacing tune. Alanna sat up in bed and smiled at her surroundings: her room at the university of Carthak. However simple, it was home compared to Hanno's birdcage. She slipped out of bed and winced as her back protested like a long-unoiled door. Though a healer had skillfully seen to her wounds and therefore placated the worst pain, scars remained. With age, they would cease to harass her, but, until then, she would simply have to adapt to their presence.

Faithful jumped up onto the bed. _Are you alright?_

"Yes, I'm alright. Right now, we need to get back home to Jon and warn him about Roger."

"We're working on that," a man spoke up from the door.

Alanna turned and found Thom, dressed in an everyday Carthaki robe, standing just inside the room, with the door shut behind him. He had shaved his head and beard, clearly revealing skin stretched tautly over bony features. Crutches helped him support his left leg.

Alanna strode up and hugged him, trying not freak at the boniness of his body. "It's good to see you again."

"I've missed you," he whispered. "I have so much to tell you, though. Sit down. It will take awhile." They both sank into the blankets of her bed, and Faithful jumped up onto her lap. Thom took a deep breath, as if to arm himself, and then said, "I'll start from the way beginning, so everything makes since. Um… do you know about the powerful spells over the palace?"

"Yes—we had to redo them last year."

"Yes, that's because Duke Roger, while here in Carthak, sent a fatal illness that healers wouldn't be able to heal. He used the palace's strengthening spell to strengthen his spell and to keep it within Corus walls. I discovered it and traced it back to Carthak. He realized he'd been traced and broke contact with the spell so he no longer had any control over it. Since his spell had already eaten up the strengthening spell and he didn't have any say in what happened anymore, I was able to go in, merging my magic with his, and blow it all up.

"I heard I caused a ton of trouble, and I apologize, but I was only helping at the time. Anyway, months later, I made a simulacrum of myself that would be found dead and would disappear shortly thereafter. I made sure no one could scry for me and came to Carthak to study at the university and find the mage who sent the sickness. Well, I did find Roger without really knowing it was him. We became good friends. Then I found out that he was killing the queen—and everyone else, just not as drastically. You know what spell I'm talking about, I'm sure—the wax doll—"

"Yes, there was one of Jarinth for a time."

"Yes, I saw that one. Anyway, I—I—" he stopped, and his head fell into his hands. "Alanna, I'm so sorry."

Alanna leaned over and hugged him. "What happened?" she whispered.

"I—I helped. I know! I know; it's terrible. But _I_ didn't like the royal family much either, Alanna. _I_ certainly didn't mind if they all died. So, I helped.

"But then I found out that you were friends with Jon. I heard about the Ysandir, you know? So, I guess you kind of changed my mind. I tried to heal the queen. I almost managed it, before Roger found out. I had to pull back before he traced my magic back to me, but, before I did, I tried to bring attention to her problem. Again, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. The queen got really, really, really sick, and no one could heal her. I couldn't end the wax doll. By then, though, I'm sure everyone knew that her problem was caused by magic.

"So Roger knew someone was interfering, but not who exactly. Then, while he was trying to hunt the interferer down, I played stupid—like I had reached my top level of my magic and couldn't go further—so he wouldn't suspect me. But Roger isn't exactly the stupidest guy to walk the planet, and he kind of pieced everything together. So he had his suspicions, and then I sent the inheritance letter—you got that, right?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you."

"Well, that made up his mind. Chances are he figured that, even if I wasn't really the guy he wanted, I was too powerful to have around. So Hanno was at the dock waiting for me when I got back from Tortall. I've been in that cage for about a year. Then you came."

Alanna glanced down at Faithful in her lap. "I don't understand. How did Faithful get in last night?"

_Two of Hanno's slaves came here the morning after you and Jarinth left. Hanno was here for a moment, but only to get them into the university and to unlock the door with magic. Then, he left, and the slaves came in and packed bags of clothes as if you guys had left to go on a short trip somewhere,_ Faithful explained.

Thom didn't seem surprised at the talking cat, though Alanna knew he understood because he added, "Hanno does that for all of his captives, and then does what he can to make it look like we're still alive, but just not present. For me, he continued to pay the rent for my room, so it looked like I would come back someday. Thank the gods, or I would have lost so much stuff."

_I followed the slaves when they left again_, Faithful continued as if uninterrupted. _They burned your stuff—don't worry, there was nothing important. Then they led me to Hanno's house. I managed to slip in without being seen. I sneaked into the torture room after the slaves left, and jumped at Hanno. You know the rest._

Alanna kissed his head. "You say that as if it were nothing. Thanks, Faithful." He purred contentedly in response.

"Hanno is alive and well in my room, locked away where no one can find him. We found this on him." He pulled her ember-stone out of his pocket and handed it to her. She stared at it, amazed: she had forgotten all about it. "What is it? I tested it, and I couldn't get it to betray its secrets or anything."

Its comforting feeling had not left, so she squeezed it in her hands as she filled her brother in on her encounter with the Goddess.

"Fascinating," he whispered, staring at the ember-stone with wide, mesmerized eyes.

"But what are we going to do about Hanno?"

Thom blinked, as if having forgotten the duke, and then sighed. "We've contacted Duke Nathaniel of Saragin to—well, we said we wanted to know what we should do, but we were more or less looking for permission to drag Hanno north to Tortall. Instead, His Grace is sailing down here, and he'll be here in about ten days."

Alanna frowned. "How did you manage to get him on such short notice?"

"Well, apparently _you've_ done something for him that made him like you, and his mother was most upset when she heard that Jarinth had been killed. And there are six nobles out of the sixteen prisoners, including you, me, and Razi. Four of us are Tortallan, which makes it all the worse. Everyone has been wondering where we disappeared to, so when it turns out that we've been held in birdcages for ages…. His Grace was not too happy at all. What's more, we mentioned that we suspect Roger as a friend of Hanno's, and I don't know if you know, but the Saragin family is _intensely_ loyal to the royal family and will do anything to keep the king safe. That Roger is collaborating with Hanno can only mean trouble for King Roald."

Alanna nodded. "I know." She paused, swallowed, and then asked tentatively, "Do you know where Jarinth is? I mean, her—her body?"

"We found her downstairs. I think Hanno meant to do something to her in front of you, so he hadn't buried her yet. I magicked her so she wouldn't decompose, and we're having a coffin made."

Alanna nodded, blinking the tears from her eyes. "Thanks for that."

Thom hugged her again. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine what you two went through together."

Suddenly Alanna remembered nights in the convent library correcting papers, travelling to Corus for Thom's funeral, loitering in Persopolis, meeting with George and Eleni, standing on the brink between the Realms of the Dead and Living, saving Sir Aidan of Queenscove, and sailing to Carthak. She bit her lip, and then buried her face in Thom's shoulder to sob furiously.

---

"There's no proof that Roger had anything to do with it," Duke Nathaniel repeated firmly. "We've searched Hanno's entire house—letters, furnitures' artisan marks, everything—and nothing points to Roger of Conté as a collaborator of his. Hanno was indeed working against the Tortallan crown, and the emperor has given him to us to try for attempted regicide among other crimes in Tortallan courts."

"But, Your Grace—" Thom tried again.

"_Enough_. Roger of Conté is the nephew His Majesty the King, and I would thank you to stop accusing him of treason. Now, if that's all, I have work to do. Thank you very much."

Alanna curtsied. "Thank you, Your Grace." When she saw Thom about to protest, she kicked him. He threw her a glare, and she matched him stare for stare. Finally, with a roll of his eyes, he spun around, leading Alanna and Razi out of the office.

Once the door was closed, Thom sighed in frustration. "I never thought he would take that side of it. I was so sure we had Roger in the palm of our hands, but _no_. He's King Roald's nephew and can't be doing anything to try and become king. Dear _gods_ this is annoying."

Alanna nodded. Somehow, though, she wasn't surprised that Roger had left no proof of his relationship with Hanno. He had never left evidence of his plans lying around before, so why should he start now? She shook her head. Nothing was left to do but wait and talk with George and Eleni when she got home. Gods, she missed them!

"Hey, guys, wait up!" Jenna called from behind them. They turned and saw her running to catch up. Out of all the prisoners, she was in the best shape. She had suffered only a couple of bruises because, apparently, she was Hanno's favorite sex toy, and he didn't want to play with a scarred woman. "Listen, I've just counted up everyone that we're shipping back to Tortall, and only two are staying. That leaves us with the four of us and ten others, plus Hanno. It'll amount to seventy gold nobles altogether for food and board. Duke Nathaniel offered to pay—"

"No," Thom spat. "He's not paying. I don't want any charity from him. I'll take care of the seventy gold nobles."

"Thom, you're being rude. He's only doing his job," Razi scolded.

"I just spent a damned year in a fucking cage. I have a _right_ to be rude," he snapped, and stormed off down the hall.

The others stared after him. "It's so weird seeing him with so much energy," Jenna commented.

---

Alanna docked in Saragin, Tortall, to an awaiting welcome-home crowd including Jon, Raoul, Gary, Alex, Douglass, Geoffrey, Sacherell, Myles, and Rowanna. She dug out Thom from the crowd to introduce to her friends, but, too late, she remembered that they already knew him.

It was a cold moment when Raoul, Gary, and Alex—Jon was busy listening to Razi a few yards away—faced Thom. He had grown back only a centimeter of curly hair and looked worse for the wear, but his grim smile kept away any open sympathy.

"Long time, no see, Thom," Gary greeted through clenched teeth.

"And I've missed you so," Thom replied.

Just then, Jon slid back into their group and pulled Alanna into another hug. "I'm so glad you're okay," he whispered.

She knew he had spotted Thom over her shoulder when he tensed. Slowly—almost slower than necessary, just to spite Thom, Alanna thought—he released her, and she glanced at Thom for his reaction. His eyes flicked from her to Jon, and he did not look overly pleased.

Myles shuffled up, took in the situation in seconds, and patted Alanna on the back. "I'm sorry. This must be very awkward."

"Oh, it is," she replied.

"I'm sorry. We hadn't realized Thom was still alive," Jon said, his tone suggesting that he wasn't overjoyed by their discovery.

"Jon!" Myles scolded.

"You'll have to forgive His Highness's ignorance, Myles. He often slips up like so," Thom remarked mildly.

"Thom!" Alanna cried. "You guys are impossible! How is it that you manage to hold such a pathetic grudge for so long? Thom—Raoul, Gary, Alex, and Jon are all extremely good friends of mine; guys, Thom is my brother. Yes, you have different goals in life, but get over it. For my sanity's sake, just _pretend_ to get along!"

The boys stood silently for a moment, and then Jon sighed. "For Alanna's sake, then." He held out his hand to Thom. Thom stared at it for a moment, earned a glower from Alanna, and finally shook it stiffly. "Your Highness." Rigidly, he did the same with Raoul, Gary, and Alex.

"_Thank_ you," Alanna told them curtly.

---

Later that evening, after dinner in Duke Nathaniel's castle, Thom and Alanna set out on a stroll along the city's steets. At first, they walked in silence, both trying to simply enjoy the quiet night and both failing miserably as their thoughts continuously wandered back to their arrival in Tortall.

Finally, Thom broke the silence. "Do you love him?"

Alanna glanced at him in surprise. "Love who?"

"His Highness—Jon. The way he looked at you today, I was so sure he was going to kiss you."

Alanna paused, wondering about not only the answer to this question but also its origins. Hugging Jon in public today had not been a problem, because everyone else had been doing it too. But if Thom, who probably knew nothing of love, had picked up signals from Jon, then the Prince was getting lax with his guard on his feelings for her. She would have to talk to him about that.

"We've been together for about a year," she murmured, bracing herself for his reaction.

She glanced at him when he didn't reply immediately. The corner of his lip twitched—she couldn't tell if it went up or down. When he spoke, though, his voice betrayed his distaste. "Why him?"

She shrugged, and then frowned. That was a good question. "I don't know. I guess—I guess we just love each other."

"Hm."

They rounded a corner and found themselves on the corner of the Center Square. A man was leaning on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the square.

Alanna shrieked with joy. "George!"

"Alanna—" Thom called after her as she ran towards her old friend.

George laughed and caught her up in his arms. His lips pressed against her hair, and he murmured, "Gods I've missed you."

"I missed you too, George. I missed you a lot." She stepped back just enough to see his face, but not enough for him to release her. "I have so much to tell you."

"Well, let's head to my quarters, then, and you can tell me everything. Who's this?"

She turned to see Thom approaching them, smiling strangely. "George, this is Thom," she introduced. "Thom, this is George Cooper, a really good friend of mine."

Thom readily accepted George's offered hand, his smile growing. Alanna could not figure out what that smile meant: it wasn't pleased, but rather knowing and therefore amused.

"George just invited us back to his place for a little bit," she said.

"Hm. We should accept then, shouldn't we?"

"Come on. I'm rooming in the Trickster's Cove." With his arm around her shoulders, George led them off.


	29. The Funeral

CHAPTER 29: The Funeral

Alanna and her friends returned to the palace two weeks later. The evening after their arrival, Alanna found herself curled up on one of Myles' overstuffed chairs, staring at a letter that had just arrived that morning. Myles sat across from her, correcting the papers of his page students. Out of everyone in the palace, she spent the most time with Myles. Unlike her noble friends, he was quiet and considerate, funny but not immature. Unlike Thom, he didn't restrict his daily routine to sleeping, eating, and burying himself in the library. He also offered superb advice, which she found extremely helpful as she planned Jarinth's funeral.

She sighed and shifted on the chair, searching for a more comfortable position.

Myles looked up and smiled. "What's wrong?"

She held up the letter. "Do you know the sorcerer Si-Cham, Chief of the Masters at the City of the Gods?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, this is from him. He was wondering if he could attend Jarinth's funeral."

"Do you have something against him coming?"

"No, not at all—I'll write him back this evening, inviting him. But what about everyone else? How do I know who should come? Jarinth knew _everybody_. Which ones should I invite?"

"Don't worry about it. Not only has Queen Lianne probably sent out a multitude of invitations already, but anyone who wants to come but isn't invited will come anyway. It's not like they won't have heard about her death; minstrels have been wailing about it for ages."

"Oh," she replied with a surprised blink. "Thanks."

---

On her way back to her room that night, Jon popped out of nowhere, caught her arm, and pulled her into an empty, nearby room. "What's wrong? It's been two weeks since you got back and I have yet even to kiss you. Did we split up without my knowing it?"

It occurred to Alanna how sorely she missed being in his arms. She laughed, leaned up, and kissed him. "No, of course we haven't split up. I just wanted to make you fret a bit."

He swore and slammed his lips back onto hers, only pulling away long enough to lead her back to his room.

---

Two days later, Hanno was tried in court and sentenced to death by hanging. Alanna, Thom, and Faithful watched together as the torturer died. They walked away grimly satisfied.

On the way back to their rooms, however, any content feeling quickly vanished when they turned a corner and came face-to-face with Roger.

For a moment, the four just stared at each other, Thom, Alanna, and Faithful cold and Roger poisonously pleasant. Then, suddenly, Roger bowed and held his hand out to Thom. "You must be Lord Thom of Trebond, Alanna's brother."

Thom's eyes blazed and jaw clenched, and he conspicuously refused the offered hand.

Roger's smile widened. "It's been nice meeting you, Lord Thom. Welcome back, Alanna." He bowed and strode away.

When he was out of earshot, Alanna murmured, "You should have shaken his hand, Thom."

Thom spun around to glare at her. "Alanna, I don't think you understand. I just spent the past year in a damn _cage_ because of that man. There's no way in Chaos I'm _shaking his hand_!"

"You can't so openly hate him. People will notice."

"Good! Then maybe they'll suspect him more!"

"Or maybe they'll suspect _you_ because he's part of the royal family and you don't like him."

"What would I have to gain from the death of the King and Queen?"

"Pride. Everyone knows that you didn't enjoy your time here, Thom, and that you're more likely than anyone to want revenge."

Thom opened his mouth to shoot back an angry retort, but found he had nothing to say.

"You played stupid in Carthak so he wouldn't suspect you. Can't you do the same here?"

He glowered at her, spun on his heel, and strode off—for the library, no doubt, Alanna thought.

Alone in the hallway with Faithful, Alanna trudged back to her room, changed her mind, and made for Myles' instead. She could really use his company again.

---

Roger sank slowly into the chair at his desk. Those Trebond twins were still alive. After all of his attempts to remove them, they were still alive.

"You were stupid to keep the boy alive," he mused aloud, and then nodded. Yes, at the next possible chance, that boy had to die.

But where would that chance come from? Lovely Alanna had single-handedly built him a palace of friends, and now everybody important would intervene if they saw him struggling with anything. And as far as Roger could tell, Thom only had one weak spot: his sister.

So, to get to Thom, Roger had to get to Alanna, but he had already tried to get Alanna, and the bitch constantly managed to evade death. Roger's innumerable failures had once even led him to believe that her blood ran thick with immortality. Or maybe the Dark God feared her. Or maybe—

No! He slammed his fist on his desk and jumped up to pace his office. The girl was just a girl. He could kill her. He would kill her. He just needed to think clearly and figure out how. But it was so damn hard when she was best friends with three million knights—

Roger froze. Knights. Long ago Jonathan had let slip that Alanna dreamed of becoming a knight. Theoretically, she could. The king only had to reward her for exemplifying such chivalrous behavior in Carthak. Roald had done it three times before, though none of the men being rewarded had ever survived the Ordeal. Now, nobles tended to view it as a last resort to be rid of powerful lower-class citizens.

Roger settled back into his chair, pondering. How could he get his fellow nobles to agree with this? Only Roald had to consent, but he would never do so unless he had the support of his powerful gentry. They, however, would refuse even to think of allowing a girl to try for her shield. Such progressive ideas were too much for them, no matter the hope of finally eradicating that pesky little girl. And Jonathan would throw a tantrum if such a thing were permitted for the exact opposite reason: he wouldn't want his darling Alanna to risk her life so frivolously.

But Roger would make them all understand. Then, Alanna would take the Ordeal. Then, she would die. Then, Thom would die. Then, Jon would be as good as dead.

---

Jarinth's funeral was held five days later. Alanna didn't cry. She couldn't. She had no more tears left. And somehow she felt that Jarinth wouldn't want her to cry even if she could.

Eleni and George (in a wig and fake beard) came early and left late; they, along with Jonathan and Myles, never left her side. Thom seemed disturbed by all of the emotion—even if Alanna didn't cry, that didn't mean no one else did—and instead of mourning, emmersed himself in a long discussion with Master Si-Cham.

That evening, after a quiet supper in one of the palace's drawing rooms, guests began to disperse. Soon, besides Eleni, George, Jon, and Alanna, only Si-Cham and Thom were left. Then Thom left, and Si-Cham walked up to Alanna and bowed.

"I am sorry we haven't met before, Lady Alanna. I am Si-Cham, Chief of the Masters at the City of the Gods."

"Master Si-Cham, I'm honored," she greeted smoothly, curtsying and shaking his hand. "Thank you for coming today."

"I hate to draw you away from your friends, but I would very much like to speak with you privately."

"Of course." She skimmed the room and spotted a door not far off leading to an adjacent parlor. "Let's step into here…."

Once in the small parlor, Si-Cham shut the door carefully and then refused the seat Alanna offered. "I don't have much to say, and I fear the little I do you won't accept easily."

"I'll do my best."

"Thank you. What I have to say concerns your brother, Thom. He wishes to study at the City of the Gods. He is a very intelligent boy—too intelligent, if I may. He is like a newborn babe that can fire catapults. It can hit the desired target easily, but does it really know the damage it does? Does it understand the effects of its weapon?

"I told Thom he was welcome at our university—as is everyone. I fear, however, that he will not learn to understand the effects of his power, but only to build it up and become more powerful, which, in turn, may lead to more damage."

Alanna waited for Si-Cham to continue, but when he didn't, she commented softly, "Master Si-Cham, I understand your concern, but I don't know how I can help. My brother and I love each other very much, but I haven't seen him for six years. I don't know him as well as when we were children. I don't know if I can dissuade him."

"He will not be dissuaded," Master Si-Cham cut in firmly. "I've tried and failed, and if I failed, then there is nothing anyone else—not even his adored twin sister—can do."

"Then what are you suggesting?"

"Nothing. I'm simply warning you. I've met families who have reunited after years of separation, and they struggle because both sides expect the same people they split from ages before, and they are disappointed by the new people they don't know anymore. Don't be expecting your brother to return to his ten-year-old characteristics."

Alanna rubbed her eyes. But she loved Thom as a ten-year-old. "Will he always be so angry?"

"I would suggest you not pray for changes you can't control. If he loses his anger, he may replace it with another feeling equally as troublesome or worse." When Alanna didn't reply, he bowed. "That is all I have to say. Thank you for your time."

Alanna curtsied mechanically, and then he was gone.

She collapsed into one of the chairs lining the walls. She had thought she had her old brother back. Now not only had she lost Jarinth, but she had also gained a stranger for a twin.


	30. The Council

CHAPTER 30: The Council

Alanna snuggled deeper into Myles' overstuffed chair and eagerly flipped the page of her book. She had enjoyed this week following Jarinth's funeral, mostly spent reading or playing chess with Myles, and however much she knew all good things had to come to an end—and usually did so quickly, for her—she wished it could go on for at least a little bit longer.

But the peace did end when Timon, Duke Gareth's servant, arrived with an urgent message for Alanna that requested her immediate presence in the King Jasson's Throne Room.

"What in the Chaos would they want with her there?" Myles demanded.

"I bring His Grace's apologies for the inconvenience of the short notice, but he begs that you come looking as decent as possible—"

"Well, what does he think, that she'll show up naked?" Myles turned to Alanna, noticed her confusion, and his hassled look softened. "The King Jasson's Throne Room is where His Majesty holds audiences with his nobles when he wants a word with them. Do you have anything extremely sophisticated and conservative to wear?"

"Umm…."

Twenty minutes later, Alanna paced anxiously behind the doors of the King Jasson's Throne Room as a maid attempted to fuss with her hair. Though she didn't look quite as elegant as her convent teachers would have hoped, she didn't look terrible, either, after jumping into a dress, dumping cosmetics on her face, and throwing up her hair. Her fashionable but modest gown provided the most reassurance, because she knew the nobles of the court would approve and maybe would forget her usual outfit of breeches.

Two guards stood on either side of the door, though they could have been statues for all they moved. The herald smoothed his sleeve and sipped from a bottle of water he kept hidden under his tunic. Myles stood beside her, trying to convince himself as much as Alanna that everything would go alright. Alanna tried to soothe herself with his words as she continued to pace.

Then, two bangs resonated from inside, and Alanna realized guards standing just inside the doors had knocked the butts of their spears on the ground to announce something. It took her a moment to realize what that something was.

"Good luck," Myles whispered as the doors swung open.

"Lady Alanna of Trebond," the herald proclaimed.

_Oh guide me, Mother_, Alanna prayed fervently. _I have no idea what I'm doing_.

She stepped inside the room and blinked at the splendor spread out before her. In a room of gold frames, a carved ceiling, and majestic portraits of past monarchs, there stretched a long glass table lined by forty no-nonsense noblemen. At the head of the table sat King Roald, decked out in the formal robes of a monarch complete with a large crown on his head. Duke Nathaniel and Duke Gareth sat on his left and Jonathan on his right.

Everyone stood when she entered, and she curtsied in acknowledgment. Then, as the doors closed behind her and shut her off from the protection of the rest of the world, she stepped forward. As one, the men sat.

"Lady Alanna of Trebond, would you swear allegiance to the royal family, to protect it against all enemies, even if there were no hope of survival?" Duke Nathaniel demanded.

Only just refraining from jumping at the sharp voice and wondering in complete bewilderment if this was a dream, she answered clearly, just as she had been taught, "Yes, Your Grace."

"Would you protect this land, the nation of Tortall, no matter the personal loss it may require?"

"Yes, Your Grace." Would someone really answer "no"?

"If you were to be given the chance to take the Ordeal of Knighthood, would you take it?"

Alanna stared at him. "Wha—?" Then, she swallowed and responded a little more coherently, "Yes…." What kind of question was that? This would completely ruin her reputation! Then again, her reputation as a lady had a gone up in smoke years ago. She answered firmly, "Yes, of course, Your Grace."

He nodded and turned to King Roald, who announced to the entire room, "As we said before, Lady Alanna has consistently, diligently, and honorably served the crown and Tortall for the past six years. She saved my son, the Prince, from the Ysandir of the Black City in the Great Southern Desert. She rescued Lady Rowanna of Disart from the cruelty of an abusive husband. She duelled the Tusaine knight, Sir Dain of Melor, to save the face of not only our knights but also that of our entire country. She rescued Lady Jarinth of Marinstha from a fatal, magically-induced illness. She freed thirteen Tortallans and two Carthakis from an illegal prison. She discovered and countered a plot of regicide. Over and over again she has demonstrated the chivalrous ways of a knight.

"Now, it is our duty as well as our pleasure to reward her for these actions. The question is _how_. Duke Roger of Conté has suggested that we offer her the chance to become a servant to the crown by way of the Ordeal of Knighthood. Can I have a motion to approve the proposal of allowing Lady Alanna of Trebond to take the Ordeal of Knighthood?"

Silence reigned for a moment, in which Alanna thought for sure that she was going to faint. Her mind spun horrendously as it tried to accept the existence of the meeting. _They were discussing allowing her to become a knight!_ And what in the world was Roger doing suggesting such a thing?

"I move to approve the proposal of allowing Lady Alanna of Trebond to take the Ordeal of Knighthood." Alanna's stomach flipped when she realized these words came from none other than the famed and well-reputed Duke Nathaniel.

"Is there a second?" Roald asked.

"I second it," Duke Gareth spoke up. Alanna could have hugged him.

"The floor is open for discussion," Roald announced.

A stiff man Alanna did not recognize at all immediately jumped in. "We closed the choice of knighthood from women a century ago for a reason. They proved weak, incompetent, and distracting on the battlefield. Tortall has run smoothly ever since we made that improvement to our society. If we let Trebond become a knight, then other girls will want to too, and our society will crumble."

"I beg to differ, Baron Perrin. Knighthood was only closed to women a century ago because the current ruler, King Jonathan III, was upset with his wife, Queen Matilda, who was a knight. His argument with her was spurred by her shield, and so he announced that the queen should not be allowed to be a knight. She argued that if the king could be a knight, then why shouldn't the queen? His answer was that women in general were not fit for knighthood. A hundred-year tradition was started by a marriage feud."

"And King Jonathan was right! Women can't be wives, mothers, and knights at the same time."

"Queen Matilda had no trouble balancing her duties, Baron, just as male knights have no trouble being husbands and fathers. Their problem was that Matilda had bested her husband in a swordfight."

"A terrible problem, to be sure! Where would society be if our wives weren't trained in obedience and modesty?"

"Are you implying that if you can beat someone in a swordfight, you cannot be obedient or modest?"

"Women will not know how to be subservient to their male superiors if they know how to fight."

"How would you know? We are subservient to our male superiors _because_ we are trained how to fight."

"Women can't fight!" Baron Perrin roared.

"Have we not been through this already?" Duke Nathaniel barked back. "Queen Matilda was in trouble because she could fight, and look at Lady Alanna! She's here because she saved _your_ nephew, I believe, from having his head chopped off by a Tusaine knight."

Perrin froze along with the rest of the room. Apparently Nathaniel had touched a sore spot.

After a moment, another man spoke up gently, "We need our women at home, to look after our households while we are at war."

"No, you don't," Duke Gareth countered. "Many noblemen and their wives live here at court. Who is defending their households then?"

"And statistics show that raiders are more likely to attack a fief when the lord of the land is traveling," Nathaniel continued, "which we can assume means that they think the fief is defended only by the lady of the house, a weak creature. If it were made clear that women are just as capable as their husbands to defend their fiefs, then the amount of barbaric attacks may decrease."

"Plus, if women were trained in more areas than just Care for the Family and Fief by a bunch of Daughters, they would understand more," another man—Alanna excitedly noted that she had a stranger on her side—mentioned slowly. "If a woman knew what it feels like to be a warrior, then she would know what the soldiers under her command while defending a castle would be feeling, in which case she would know how to rally their support and so on."

Alanna knew that she could not expect them all to agree that women were capable knights, simply because they had all somehow experienced incompetent female warriors, or it went agaist their natures to conform to new ideas, or—a purely political reason—they had enemies that they did not want to get along with that were for female knights. But, still, she felt some men were already converting.

"But Baron Perrin was correct in saying that women are distracting on the field. Historical written works show how men made stupid mistakes to save their female coworkers. Love relationships caused trouble too, where a commander would order a woman soldier to do something, and her lover would object either because he wants to keep her safe, or he finds his dominance over her being questioned because someone else can give her orders just as easily. Or perhaps the commander is commanding his lover, in which case he puts her in a safe spot and puts someone less compotent than she in the spot where she should be. We have solved this problem by splitting the genders, with men fighting and women with families. If we were to split it the other way, with women fighting and men with the families, then we would have a terribly insecure army in that the soldiers may not be able to fight because of pregnancies. If we made a law that said our female soldiers couldn't get pregnant, then our population and therefore our economy would suffer."

"A very good point, my lord. However, it would not be our worst of problems. We could easily explain the matter to our soldiers and make it clear to them that relationships only get in the way of their training. And it's not as if there is no punishment for arguing with a commanding officer. Any couples who find their relationships more important than doing as they are told may be invited to leave. And I should hope that we have better commanders in our military than those who would put themselves and their relationships before their men. We would make it clear to them that if they find themselves tempted to make ill decisions because of people under their command, they should ask either to be reassigned or to have the women bothering them reassigned. Also, it wouldn't be hard to take your point into account when we choose our commanders. If a soldier has a history of flirting with the ladies or treating one gender more kindly than the other, then he should not be regarded as commander material."

"But why should we do this?" yet another man demanded. "Lady Alanna is one out of thousands of women in this country, and she is the only who has shown the slightest interest in fighting."

"Not to mention that we have enough warriors right now anyway. It's not like we're struggling to win a war and are in desperate need of women to fight for us," someone else chimed in.

"The question is not whether we need them or not," another stranger responded. "The question is if they should be _allowed_."

"Saying we shouldn't train more troops because we're not fighting is the equivalent to saying we should stop having children because the populace is big enough as is. Do you agree with _that_ statement, Baron Carson?" Nathaniel asked pleasantly

"No, of course not" was the shocked reply.

"And the answer to your question, Lord Gregg, is simple: the women of our society have been muffled. Even if they did express a wish to fight, you probably would never have heard because their mothers and elder friends scolded them for the idea. If we start teaching our women that they _are_ capable of fighting, then, I assure you, you would hear much more about it."

"But this is _suicide_! The next thing you know, women will be wanting actual power."

"And what's wrong with giving them power?"

"They don't know how to use it!"

"Have you tried teaching them?"

Silence.

"Even dogs learn what they are taught, Your Grace. To say a dog can do more than your wife may foretell difficulties in your marriage."

"To say that anyone can do anything, though, Duke Nathaniel, is asking for trouble. Soon we'll be faced with peasant revolts, because _they_ are capable of having power too."

"That most certainly will not be accepted. Men who fight for rights instead of working to earn them do not deserve any power, whether they are capable of having it or not," Nathaniel answered sternly. When he was a met with silence, and the silence continued, he sighed. "We have sidetracked. We were discussing Lady Alanna of Trebond."

A shiver shot down Alanna's spine. Back to her.

"Lady Alanna is only seventeen years old and does not turn eighteen until next year. She would only take the Ordeal when she is eighteen, correct?"

"I assumed so." Duke Nathaniel nodded; others offered sounds of agreement.

Then silence.

Finally, "I move that we end this discussion."

"Is there a second?" King Roald asked.

"I second it."

"We will decide to end this discussion with a vote. If the majority of the present council agrees to end this discussion now, we will move on to vote on the proposal of allowing Lady Alanna of Trebond to take the Ordeal. All those in favor of adjourning, please stand."

Alanna's stomach started churning when all but two of the council immediately rose to their feet.

"Thank you. Please sit. All opposed to adjournment, please rise."

The two leftover stood. Alanna didn't recognize either of them.

"Thank you. Please sit. Our results are as follows: thirty-eight in favor, two opposed for the adjournment of this meaning. We will vote on if Lady Alanna of Trebond should be allowed to take the Ordeal. If the majority of the present council agrees to allow her to take the Ordeal, she will take it at eighteen years of age. All in favor, please rise."

Roger, Nathaniel, and Duke Gareth stood up immediately. To Alanna's surprise, Jonathan—who, she realized, had not said a word—paused, and then rose with a disgruntled expression on his face. Three other men stood up quickly too. Then, another—his face white and hands trembling—joined them. Two more followed, and then another two, and then one, and then three stood up in quick succession.

_Five more_, Alanna prayed. _Goddess, please send five more!_

It took two minutes, but, finally, five stood up.

Alanna almost fainted.

"Thank you. Please sit," King Roald asked, his face white as a sheet. "All opposed, please stand."

The remaining nineteen jumped up immediately. Two stood so vigorously that their chairs toppled backwards to clatter on the floor—servants immediately appeared out of nowhere to set them right before disappearing again—and one man even banged his fist on the table for emphasis.

The amused look on Duke Nathaniel's face—the one that chided, "No matter how much noise you make, boys, there will still only be nineteen of you, and twenty-one of us,"—was comical. Duke Gareth scrubbed at his mouth, erasing a smile. Roger simply looked smug. Jonathan was scowling.

"Thank you. Please sit." To keep his hands from trembling, Roald gripped the table with white-knuckled hands. As hard as he tried, he could not cover the shock in his voice. "Our results are as follows: twenty-one in favor, nineteen opposed. Lady Alanna of Trebond will take her Ordeal of Knighthood the Midwinter of year four thirty-seven."


	31. Reactions

CHAPTER 31: Reactions

"Are you _crazy_?" Jonathan cried.

Alanna and Jon stood glaring at each other in Alanna's room an hour after the council had been officially adjourned. She had just returned form celebrating with Myles and Faithful, joined shortly thereafter by Gary and Raoul, who had heard the news from Duke Gareth. She wanted to change and go dig up Thom from library, but had been sidetracked when she found Jon waiting.

"What's the matter with you?" Alanna demanded. "Why can't you be happy for me, like everyone else? Don't you trust me to make a good knight?"

"Alanna, you have to take the Ordeal before you become a knight!" he shouted vexedly.

Alanna flinched, stung. "You _don't_ trust me. Even after I saved your skin in the Black City, even after I fought Dain of Melor, even after Carthak, you still don't think I'm good enough."

"No, that's not it." He struggled to say something, and sighed instead, running his fingers through his hair in annoyance. He bit his lip, and then reached out to take her hands in his. "You're perfectly capable of being a knight, Alanna, but—I don't know. I don't want to see you get hurt. I—I'll be king some day, your commander. I'll have to send you off to war, and I won't know how you're doing. I won't be able to see you, or help you, or hold you, or—or _anything_. I want us to be together, without you having to run off all of the time."

Alanna's eyes widened, and she stepped back. "I'm not ready for anything long-term, Jon. We're just sleeping together."

He sighed. "Of course, Alanna."

She stepped forward again and hugged him. "Don't worry about me, Jon. I'll be fine." She could feel that he didn't believe her, but she didn't really care, as long as he didn't object openly. After changing, she hurried down to the library to find Thom. He was sprawled in a chair in the Gift section with his nose buried in a book and a stack of volumes next to him. "Thom, guess what!" she whispered eagerly.

He glanced up at her for a moment as he turned a page before continuing reading. "What?"

"I'm going to take the Ordeal."

He frowned, and returned his attention to her. "What Ordeal?"

"'What Ordeal'? Thom, the Ordeal of _Knighthood_. King Roald just had all of these men in a council, and they talked forever, and then they voted, and they said that I could take the Ordeal!"

"Why?" he asked, clearly baffled.

"Because apparently I've done all of this stuff for the crown, and they wanted to reward me."

"They wanted to reward you—a girl—with a shield," he echoed incredulously. "Who gave them that idea?"

She paused. Somehow she could imagine him not liking the answer. "Roger."

Thom stared at her. "Are you insane? You accepted an offer from Roger?"

"Thom, the offer wasn't from Roger; it was from the king."

"The offer was from Roger, Alanna—he's probably going to hoodwink it or something—"

"You can't hoodwink the Ordeal, Thom. It's run by Mithros."

"My ass, it's run by Mithros. That's probably some weird spell that Roger is going toy with as much as he did with the palace spells that I had to stop."

"Thom, stop it. You're a great sorcerer—don't spoil it by acting stupid. You know the Ordeal is run by Mithros and nothing can happen to it."

"Then he'll catch you beforehand, during the vigil. He'll kill you and make it look like suicide."

"He could kill me any old time and make it look like suicide, Thom."

"If he did it during the vigil then he would make it look like you chickened out and that fighting really isn't for girls."

"What does he care about fighting girls? Proving me worthless is not one of his top priorities, last I heard."

"Maybe he did it so you would trust him."

"Not even Roger is that stupid."

"Then why, pray tell, did he do it?"

"I don't know, Thom! What I do know is that what he did—no matter the reason—has now put me where I've wanted to be all my life. I'm going to become a knight, Thom!"

Thom jumped to his feet furiously. "Alanna, you're being an idiot! Someone who wants to kill you doesn't step out of nowhere and help fulfill your dreams. Be realistic!" He stomped away, and then spun around to snap, "By the way, I'm leaving for the City of the Gods tomorrow. I probably won't see you before then—or ever again, if you're letting your foolish fantasies get in the way of staying alive."

"Thom, you got your wish of being a sorcerer; why can't I get mine of being a knight?" she cried.

"Because you're trying to do it in a suicidal way!"

"Oh, and getting yourself stuck in a cage for a year isn't suicidal?"

"That was not my fault."

"Then whose was it? As far as I'm concerned, it was you who ran away from the palace to become a great sorcerer with no point to life, started working with Duke Roger of Conté, and then got kidnapped! If that's not correct, Thom, then please say so, so I'll know that you're not a selfish freak and that you really do have problems that _aren't your fault_."

Thom stared at her. "What the Chaos has gotten into you? Was it the convent? Was it training with Jarinth? Was it your adorable little relationship with your dearest Prince? All I know is that, before we left Trebond, you had a head on your shoulders, and now you're as frivolous as the other brainwashed court ladies. You disgust me, Alanna. Get a life before you talk to me again."

---

Grief towed Alanna down to the Dove. Not wanting to face the night crowds of the pub, however, she circled around to the back alley that George's window faced. He had shown her this trick before, but she had never found reason to use it. Now, after climbing on top of the kitchen roof, opening his window with a lockpick, and lighting the candles, she sat on his bed, tucked her knees under her chin, and waited.

To her surprise, not three minutes had passed before the door opened and George entered. As soon as he saw her, he strode over to the bed, gathered her in his arms, and held her.

After awhile, her cheek still resting on his chest, she murmured, "How did you know I was up here?"

"I sensed you with my Sight."

She glanced up at him. "I forgot you had the Sight."

"Not many people know at all. It's not that strong, anyway, but it comes in handy when someone wants to knife me in the middle of the night."

"I'm glad you have it, then."

"Me too." He waited for a moment, and then asked, "You want to tell me what happened?"

"Nothing much, really. Thom and I got into a fight. I don't like him being so angry."

"What was the fight about?"

"He says I'm going soft in the head, that I'm trusting Roger too much for using him to get to my shield."

"Your shield?"

"Don't be silly. You know already."

He tightened his arms around her in a hug as he chuckled. "Tell me anyway."

So she told him, and he listened well. After making sure she had finished, he asked, "And Jon didn't say anything? He just sat there?"

"Oh, yeah. I got in a fight with him too."

"What was his problem?"

"He knew that, once I got my shield, I would be fighting more and everything, but he didn't want me to get hurt." When she felt George stiffen, she sat up to look at him. "What's wrong?"

He gazed at her, and then shook his head. "Nothing, lass. Jon just—Jon just—Jon…," he groped for the words but apparently couldn't find them because, after a moment, he sighed and shook his head. "Don't worry, lass. You didn't do anything wrong. And even if you had, _I'd_ still be your friend."

Alanna laughed and hugged him. "Good. I'm glad."

"Why don't you come downstairs for awhile? You haven't been around for ages, and we're all missing you. Besides, they'll all want to celebrate your future knighthood."


	32. PreOrdeal Days

CHAPTER 32: Pre-Ordeal Days

The next year passed quickly. Duke Gareth suddenly decided that Alanna didn't work enough, and ordered that she devote twice as much time as usual to her fighting studies. He also started shoving books into her hands after lessons, requiring a report back the next day on the volumes' contents, which ranged from battle strategies and tactics to detailed descriptions of ancient wars. Often, too, he decided that she had missed something great in not training like most knights before their Ordeals, so he sent her on squire errands to get her used to taking orders. Raoul and Gary caught onto this game very quickly and started leaving their shoes at her door with a note saying they wanted them all shiny and polished by yesterday.

When Duke Gareth reminded her to choose two knights to instruct her in the Code of Chivalry during the purifying baths the night before her Ordeal, she asked him and Myles.

Winter came; winter went. She turned eighteen that May, and was rewarded with her first surprise birthday ever. Jon, Raoul, Gary, and Alex all marched into her room at dawn with gifts of a blessedly light mail shirt, mail leggings, a helmet, a jeweled belt, and a sheath for Lightning, all of which shone gold. Then came the kid gloves, the dagger, and, from Cousin George, a black opal ring. As if it weren't hard enough to blink the tears back already, the boys then steered her down to the stables, where she found Moonlight decked out in a gorgeous gold-trimmed leather outfit, complete with a cup attached to the saddle that fit Faithful perfectly, her present from Myles.

Alanna started dreaming about her post-Ordeal days. Somehow lazing around the palace for the rest of her life didn't quite appeal to her, and the many conservatives who lived there would not accept her anyway. Instead, she wanted to travel. With her lip between her teeth, she wrote to Coram and asked shyly if he might want to accompany her on her journeys. She didn't know what to expect as a reply—not only had she not seen her childhood guardian for years, but she wasn't even sure he would approve of her knighthood. To her surprise and utter relief, however, he wrote back immediately, his letter overflowing with elation. He needed to train someone to take over in Trebond, first, he wrote, but he would join her in Corus as soon as possible.

But then it occurred to her, how would she protect Jon if she was traveling? How could she see the world if the royal family stayed at home?

Myles's first advice was "Don't travel."

"But I really want to. If there's no way for them to stay safe when I'm gone, then I won't go. But there has to be another way, doesn't there, Myles? There has to be another way."

Myles frowned, pondering, and then, "Any immediate danger that Rog—anyone offers will probably be mainly magic, in which case the best person to deal with them is—"

"Thom," Alanna finished for him and nodded. "That's right. I'll write to Thom."

"But I still don't want you to go."

Alanna smiled sadly and hugged her friend. "I'll come back to see you, I promise."

He returned the hug tightly. "I'm looking forward to it already."

---

Alanna wrote to Thom, and waited nervously the following weeks for his reply, worried that he might still be angry with her. To her surprise, though, his return letter not only didn't hold a hint of chagrin, but also apologized for his earlier words.

The letter contained another surprise, too, though this one didn't please her quite as much.

"He's just passed his written examinations for Mastery!" she squeaked, flapping the letter in the air for George to see. "He's not supposed to do that until he's at least thirty!"

George stared at her, and then grabbed the letter to read for himself before collapsing onto his bed. "By the Crooked God, that boy is crazy. Smart, but crazy. Damn, listen to this: 'I'd love to come to court to babysit our dearest Prince, but first I have to finish my spoken examinations and the Ordeal of Sorcery. I expect I'll be done soon, since they're nothing hard. The expectations of this school are nothing compared to the university of Carthak, and everything that is really supposed to stump students, I read about in the palace library.'"

"Well, at least he's agreed to come," Alanna replied weakly.

"So now you'll be able to go away."

"Yeah," she said ruefully. "But then I'll come back."

He smiled. "Good. I'm glad."

---

Thom arrived in early December, and Alanna forgot the cold as she ran outside to meet him. "Thanks for coming," she laughed as they hugged.

"No trouble at all, sister dear," he replied merrily, leading her inside as a hostler took his horse. "It only occurred to me when I got to the City that I loved how the servants dote on the nobles here in Court. I could do with some more of that."

Alanna bit her lip with glee. His anger seemed completely gone. "How was the Ordeal of Sorcery and everything? Did you pass?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "I could have passed it in my sleep. Someone with no Gift at all could have passed it."

"So you're now a Master."

"That's right."

"Contragulations."

"Thank you."

In the next three weeks, Coram and Rowanna both showed up for moral support. And then suddenly it was Midwinter. Suddenly it was the morning before her Ordeal.

"I can't do this," she decided, pacing George's room, jittery with nerves. Jon, Raoul, Gary, Rowanna, Faithful, and George all watched her sympathetically. "That's it; I'm done. I'm not doing this—I can't. I'll stay here and forget I ever had this chance. No knighthood; no insanity. None. I'm done. I'm just—I'm done. I'll die. I'll—I'll die. I'm not knight-material. I have no knight in me. It just won't work. Something bad will happen."

"Alanna, why don't you sit down?" Jon suggested for the third time.

She nodded. "Yes, good idea, thank you." She sat, and her friends sighed with relief, but then she was up, pacing again. "No, I can't sit down. I'm too nervous. This is such a bad idea—such a bad idea. What were they thinking, giving me this chance? This is suicide."

When Alanna's back was turned, George leaned over to whisper to Jon, "She needs to sleep. Can't you do that with your Gift?"

Jon winced. "Sorry, I forgot." The next time Alanna passed him, he caught her hand and touched her head, and she lost consciouness instantly.

George caught her and carried her to his bed, where he tucked her in. "Sleep tight, lass."

That night, Alanna took the purifying baths alone. After dressing in the ritual white shirt and breeches, she stood at attention as Myles and Duke Gareth recited the Code of Chivalry, how she was to protect everyone and everything to her best ability. She had heard it all before, even had parts memorized, but tonight she realized that this was not just some random code; this was the law of her future life.

Then they escorted her to the chapel outside the Chamber of the Ordeal and told her she couldn't utter a word until after leaving the Chamber the next morning. Then Myles burst into tears and hugged her, and they both left.

She bit her lip, turned around, and stared at the Chapel around her. Often she had wondered what would happen to a squire who fell asleep during his vigil; now, she realized that fatigue was not possible. She was too petrified.

Slowly, she walked towards the great iron door connecting the Chapel to the Chamber of Ordeal itself. The plain, wooden bench in front of it looked incredibly uncomfortable, but she sat anyway. She did not need to be comfortable tonight—a good thing, because the cold had already begun to seep into her skin. She would be frozen by morning.

The next morning she would pass through that door to enter the Chamber. There, she faced—what? She knew that she had to cope with her flaws without uttering a sound, but the Chamber didn't expect her to _get over_ those flaws, did it? Of course not: if every knight who left the Chamber had overcome his flaws, then they would all be perfect, and she knew for a fact that they weren't. But, then, how would they expect her to deal with them? Could she confront something that horrfied her as much as some of her flaws did?

Then it occurred to her: no, of course not. Facing her flaws was not the same as overcoming them. Facing them just meant that she would not allow them to get in her way when she had to answer to the Code of Chivalry. This scared her. Knighthood wasn't just a title or a game. It was a duty. It required her to protect her country with all her might. She would go off to war when the time came, and people would look to her for help, even if she were as terror-stricken as they. There would be no more simply listening and perhaps politely contradicting those who cursed her king. Now she must challenge her sovereign's ill-wishers and defend the crown with her life. Not that she wouldn't do that without her shield, but when she finally earned it, fighting for the royal family would be expected. Could she live up to everyone's expectations?

She let some people down by just existing. So many powerful nobles had no wish for a woman to fight at their sides. Their expectations would be higher than anyone else's; they would want her to prove herself worthy of knighthood over and over again, but they still would never accept her. But she had to keep proving herself. She had to help all of the other girls who wanted to become warriors too; she had to let them, as much as anyone else, know that they were quite capable of persuing any dream they wanted.

After awhile, her thoughts floated back to the royal family. How could she protect them from Roger? He still had yet to leave a single scrap of evidence that he was indeed an enemy. He was loved, and the king's nephew—no one would dream of suspecting him. Somehow she had to uncover his motives; she had to show everyone that he was not the angelic man they all thought he was.

But, since he was part of the royal family, did she owe allegiance to him too? Or perhaps she just had to treat him with respect, even when plotting against him. Her first priority had to be the current king and queen and their current heir, right? Right. Today, she had keep Roald, Lianne, and Jon alive, even if that meant going against their relative.

Alanna's thoughts lasted throughout the night. She sat there, staring at the Chamber door and trembling, until someone touched her shoulder. She glanced up to find a dark-robed priest staring at her, and then he pointed to the door, which another priest was opening. It was time.

She licked her lips, stood, almost fell as her legs protested after such a long sit, and strode into the Chamber before the door slammed shut behind her.


	33. The Ordeal

CHAPTER 33: The Ordeal

Darkness settled around her, no more terrifying than her own room at night. She looked around cautiously, her heart thudding hard in her chest. Wasn't something supposed to happen?

Her vision began to adjust to the lack of light—no, that wasn't right. Though she could not find any source of light, there was something that made it possible for her to see, like the green fog back in the Black City. Slowly, she made out the stone, undecorated room she stood in. So this was the Chamber. Now, what did it hold?

Suddenly, a door appeared in the wall to her left. She watched, confused, as two alarmed Carthaki slaves hurtled through it, and then she reeled back as she saw herself—dressed in little more than a breastband and loincloth—jump up and smash one across the head.

The real Alanna only just bit back a scream—she couldn't make a single sound! But how could she have _done_ such a thing? The slave had been helpless, unarmed and unsuspecting! How unhonorable for her simply to attack him like that. She continued to watch as she hit the other slave, too, and then just stood there, heart pounding, as the image dissolved.

But then, another picture formed: now she saw herself assault the two men from the back alley in Port Caynn. Yes, they had been cruel to beat Sir Aidan of Queenscove, but how could she expect respectable behavior from two bums when she, a noble, acted no better?

She stumbled back, hands clasping her mouth, as she and Jarinth rode carelessly away from the alley, leaving the two men to freeze to death on the ground. She had been so cruel. And she had yelled at Dain of Melor for his lack of chivalry! She sank to ground, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wanted to be a _knight_? She couldn't even be a lady!

Then, with the pictures gone, someone began to shriek. She instantly recognized it as Jarinth. And then Francis joined her, and then the slaves and the bums. Their screams clawed at Alanna's ears as she rocked on the ground and sobbed silently. Why hadn't she saved these people? Where had she been when they died? With her Gift, she should have been healing with all her might, and she had turned away. She should have worried about Jarinth's drowsiness at Hanno's, she should have volunteered her skills at Drell River Valley, she should have never left those poor souls to suffer at her hands when they had no choice but to act as they did—those were the lives they were born into. What had she been thinking? How could she even dream of wearing the shield of a knight when she refused to serve those who needed her?

Ages passed, and the wails finally died away; as soon as they had silenced, however, new voices took their place.

"Alanna?" she distinctly heard Jon ask. She looked up, confused. Wasn't she alone? But, no, there was Jon, standing right in front of her. He stared into the distance, looking lost. She scrambled to her feet and was about to cry out his name, but, just in time, remembered where was. She had to stay _silent_! "Alanna?" he asked again. Apparently, he didn't see her. "Alanna? Alanna, where are you? I need your help, Alanna, but I can't find you." King Roald, Queen Lianne, Duke Gareth, and countless others suddenly joined him, calling for her.

She could only gape at them, bewildered. How was she supposed to help them? What could she do? She didn't even know what was wrong with them! _And, besides_, she recalled, sagging under the memory, _I fail so miserably at helping people._

Out of the blue, Roger appeared behind Lianne. Alanna frowned: he was wearing a crown, and—was that a _dagger_ in his hand? Roger raised the knife, grinning evilly and preparing to plunge it into the Queen's back. She only just swallowed a scream as she leapt for the duke, and then dug her teeth deep into her lip, drawing blood, as she ran into an thick, invisible curtain. She watched in horror as Lianne fell with a cry. Then Roger turned to Roald. Alanna panicked, clawing at the material that she couldn't even see. She had to get through this! She had to save them, or Roger would kill them all. He'd kill Jon!

She attacked the material, but it refused to tear for many long minutes. Her raking fingernails tore and bled freely. Finally, her hands discovered a tiny hole; more minutes passed as she yanked at it, struggling to make it large enough for her to fit through so she could save her prince. Meanwhile, more and more people dropped under Roger's knife; still, the rest cried for her help.

Alanna broke through just as Roger advanced on Jon. She lunged for him—and he vanished. She fell, and dropped into a foot-deep mountain of snow. A blizzard raged around her, its icy wind roaring deafeningly. The cold cut into her like sharp blades, chapping and then splitting her skin. She stared at white ground, horrified: in her skimpy outfit, she would freeze in minutes.

She scrambled to her feet, her teeth chattering loudly. She had to find shelter.

Already, her hair—still damp from the preceding night's bath—was freezing, as was the blood trickling from her fingernails and cold-cracked skin. She shivered incontrollably, scrunching her small body down in search of some inexistent warmth. Suddenly, she tripped and fell. Her hands shot out to break her fall, and they along with her shins tore on the sharp snow. She watched in dismay as her skin began to turn blue. Try as she might, she could not heave herself to her feet again. She was too cold.

She stopped struggling, instead curling herself into a little ball with her chin tucked into her chest. The wind bit at the back of her neck, frosting her with hard snow. She couldn't move. She was freezing. She couldn't do this. This was crazy. She had to cry out—she had to make them open the door. She couldn't survive this. The cold would kill her. The Chamber wasn't supposed to kill her—it was just supposed to make her face her flaws!

Unless that was it. She, Alanna of Trebond, was never meant to be a knight, and of course the Chamber would not let live those who entered but were not meant to do so. She huddled further under the snow, tears leaking from her eyes and then freezing before they had even fallen from her face. Those conservatives at the council would know that they had been right: she had not survived; girls were not meant to be warriors.

_Alanna!_ she suddenly cried to herself, sitting up wildly. _You can't do this—you can't just leave those girls! They need to know that you are capable—that they are capable._

With a sudden burst of strength, Alanna shoved herself to her feet, almost fell again as another blast of glacial wind attacked her with cutting snowflakes, and then determinedly stepped forward.

The ground broke beneathe her, and she gasped as she pitched forward, shards of ice gashing her legs, torso, and arms as she splashed into a cold lake.

Some unknown weight pulled her underneathe the surface, and she watched in alarm as the ice immediately fitted itself back together again over her head. She struggled to swim back to the top as her lungs began rebelling, demanding air. She reached the ice, but it had completely frozen over. She banged on it in panic, willing it to melt, to let her through. She couldn't breathe—she couldn't breathe—_she couldn't breathe_.

Slowly, Alanna acknowledged the spinning of her head. She needed to stop moving. She needed to lie down.

She stopped pounding on the ice. She let herself sink, let her weight carry her down, down, down, until she hit the hard bottom, and where darkness caved in on her.

The Chamber swung open its door and spat her out. Water cascaded into the Chapel, and she dimly heard people shriek as she gasped for air. She retched, water gushing from her mouth; someone pounded on her back. Then she tried breathing again, and when glorious air filled her lungs, she could only laugh. She was alive.

"Holy shit, she's alive!" someone cried.

She glanced up, and found a multitude of strangers staring back at her in awe. Then, someone dragged her to her feet; she turned to find Myles and Jonathan at her sides, grinning crazily.

"Jonathan!" she cried in alarm, suddenly remembering the Ordeal. "Jon, he's trying to kill you! But don't worry—I won't let him."

Jon smiled. "I know you won't, Alanna." And then he reached up to touch her head, and she slept.


	34. Accusations

CHAPTER 34: Accusations

Alanna slept soundly until Coram shook her awake that evening. She dressed in formal hose, shirt, and tunic for the Ceremony of Knighthood, where she would swear fealty to the crown and the King would dub her a knight of the realm.

Roald's hands trembled as his blade struck first her shoulders and then her head, and he announced no less shakily, "I dub thee Sir Lady Alanna, Knight of the Realm of Tortall. Serve honorably and well."

Queen Lianne's legs gave way then, and she fell into her throne with her hand to her ashen face. Duke Gareth patted her back in consolation, beaming.

Then Thom stepped forward with Coram, who carried a great bulk covered in a brown cloth. After introducing himself and earning permission from the King, Thom whipped off the cloth, revealing Alanna's shield.

Like the rest of the court, she could only stare. Instead of a black tower on a red field, Trebond's emblem, the shield flaunted a rearing gold cat.

"A lioness rampant. For the first lady knight of the century," Thom proclaimed with a sly grin.

"Three cheers for Trebond!" someone bellowed. Alanna flushed, recognizing the voice as Raoul's.

"Hip! Hip! Huzzah!" others roared back.

Alanna laughed, close to tears. They liked her! Sure, she could spot numerous conservatives who, if possible, would be drilling holes into her with their glares, but they didn't matter. Everyone had enemies. But not everyone had friends.

---

The following celebratory feast was long and loud. Her friends never left her sides, constantly clapping her on the back and roaring obnoxiously. Roger approached her too to offer his congratulations. Listening to him, Alanna realized that tonight was the night to act. First, however, she had to tell Jon. She couldn't go and accuse his cousin without forewarning him.

After the celebrations, Alanna followed the Prince back to his rooms. When the door was locked securely, he bent to kiss her, but she stopped him with a finger. "Jon, I have to go tonight. But first, I have to tell you something. And you're going to be upset—you may even hate me—but I have to tell you."

Noting her anxiety with an understanding Alanna could have worshiped just then, he nodded and stepped back again. "Go on."

She swallowed. How could she be about to do this? She took a deep breath, and then murmured, "You know the magical illness killing your mother? Well—I think the sorcerer is Roger."

Jonathan stared at her for a moment, and then laughed awkwardly. "Alanna, I think you're still tired from the Ordeal. Or perhaps something in the Ordeal scared you, but I assure you, Roger is completely trustworthy. He's more than my cousin—he's my friend. He would never do anything to hurt my mother or anyone else."

"I know it's hard to believe, Jon, but, really, you have to—"

"Alanna, hush." He stepped forward again, his arms finding their habitual position around her waist, and his lips touching her nose. "You're tired and stressed. Let's just go to bed, alright?"

---

When Alanna awoke, it was pitch black. It had to be somewhere around midnight. Jon held her close, sleeping soundly. Had she really been dubbed a knight mere hours ago?

Suddenly, she sat up, furious with herself. A knight by name, perhaps! What had she done since then besides give into gluttony and sleep with her overlord? How honorable. While she lazed around, time inched away, and the royal family grew closer to their deaths. She growled and rolled out of bed, ignoring the cold that immediately bit into her bare skin.

"Alanna?" Jon murmured, his voice muffled in his pillow.

"Go back to sleep, Jon. I just have to use the privy," she lied easily, pulling on her clothes. He grunted in reply and obeyed. Then, she slipped out of the room and darted to her own chamber, where Faithful snored peacefully on her pillow. "Wake up," she hissed. Quickly, she used some of Jarinth's old vervain to scry for Roger. A picture bloomed in the glowing light, revealing the duke down in the throne room, laughing with three other noblemen. The celebrations were still going strong, apparently. She bit her lip, and sent a short prayer to the Mother that he was perfectly occupied where was, and would stay that way for a good time longer.

_What are you going to do?_ Faithful asked, stretching with a yawn.

"Whatever Roger has cooking up will be in his chambers. Any lengthy spell like the one killing Lianne has to have a focus for its power. That's what I'm looking for."

_You're going to break into his room?_ he echoed skeptically. _I'm not entirely sure that's legal._

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought we were passed legality when Jarinth was murdered. Now come on—you're standing guard."

Roger's room was at the top of a long, winding staircase, to Alanna's relief. Now no one passing through the hallway at the foot of the steps would spot her as she struggled with the lock on the door. Lockpicks proved worthless against the heavy spells protecting the entrance. Alanna bit her tongue, reaching out with her Gift to study the guards, and recognized them with a wince. Jarinth had taught her about these, but she did not have the time to deal properly with them. Instead, a strenuous blast of magic did the job for her, though left her light-headed, and then the lockpicks worked.

Roger's main room was simple and empty of anything important—obviously, since maids and visitors entered here too often to leave a murderous spell lying around. Instead, Alanna used her ember-stone to find a back door glowing orange—more protected than even the front door. Only this could be his workroom. Again, she had to shove her Gift into the lock to beat it, and the energy sucked into the work knocked her out cold.

Faithful licked her awake, and Alanna's eyes flicked open in horror. "How long have I been out?" she demanded.

_Two minutes_, he replied smartly.

"Damn." Anything could have happened in those two minutes. Roger could have entered, and she would be helpless against his power. She had to find his spell fast. She picked the door's lock and entered cautiously.

If she had had any doubt of the room's uses, they evaporated now. The workshop was crowded with colored scrying glasses and crystal bottles containing suspicious liquids. Books on magic, in different languages, and of an almost horrifying range of ages packed the shelves. Steadily-glowing lamps from Carthak replaced torches for light, and dishes of burning coal emanated a comfortable heat from the center of the room. In the back, water splashed from a pipe in the wall onto mossy rocks and then into a deep basin. Curious, Alanna crept towards it and gasped at a wax doll under the waterfall.

"Of course," she murmured, picking up the doll. "There had been a wax doll of Jarinth, too." She studied the doll in her hands, and almost dropped it when she realized who it resembled.

_Queen Lianne_, Faithful voiced needlessly.

The Queen's features were almost completely washed away, leaving only her real hair and favorite dress to betray her identity. Alanna almost cried. No wonder Her Majesty was so ill—this doll had been getting pounded by a waterfall for ages! She placed the doll gently on a nearby table, and returned to the fountain for a silvery veil that also ran in the water. It was wrapped around a bundle, with a slit in its side. Alanna remembered in awe how she had struggled so fiercely to tear a fabric during the Ordeal. Now she understood what that fabric had been.

With her dagger, she cut the string holding the veil around its bundle, and gasped at the contants. Wax dolls of King Roald, Jonathan, Duke Gareth, Lord Provost, Myles—even her and Thom! This was why they had been so oblivious to Roger's actions. And though she, Myles, and Thom had suspected the king's nephew, none of them had ever been prompted to do anything until now, when she had torn the veil from over her eyes.

_Alanna, watch out!_ Faithful shrieked, darting under the table.

Alanna spun and gasped. Roger stood in the doorway. "I never imagined you'd be so incredibly pesky, Alanna. I thought for sure I'd have your trust after I suggested you earn your shield."

Mind reeling, Alanna meant to spit a retort, but changed her mind as a small shadow slipped out the door. She needed to buy time for Faithful to get help. "Why did you do that?"

"I had no idea you were going to survive. In fact, I doubted it. Now that you've survived, though, there's the perfect excuse for your death."

Alanna stiffened to refrain from shaking. "What's that?" Roger was the better swordsman and mage. If he tried to kill her, he would succeed.

"Plenty of nobles are furious enough with you that they'd hire an assassin to slit your throat. You'd be amazed how easy it is to make it look like that happened." He shook his head. "Sometimes things need to be sacrificed for the greater good."

"The greater good?"

"My uncle can't rule a country for the life of him—or his people. 'The Peacemaker,' they call him, you know. Foreigners are more scared of the Scanran barbarians than they are of Tortall."

"Isn't that good?"

"With fear comes respect, Alanna, and respect results in power. Tortall could be great. But, instead, our army dwindles and our lords are fat, lazy men. Most don't even know how to hold a spear anymore. Our peasants take up after their overlords and they, too, begin to dawdle. Now, our economy has suffered, while Carthak builds up a navy stronger than all of the Eastern Lands' militaries put together. I've tried to tell Roald the distress of his country, but he refuses to listen. I must take matters into my own hands for the good of the country, before Carthak attacks. Worse, Carthak might unite with other countries—the Copper Isles, the Yamani Islands, or perhaps even Tyra—and then we'd have a two-fronted war to fight. We'd be squashed, and lose more land than we gained under the Old King. _Then_ there'd be no hope at all of getting back up on our feet. We'd have to pay reparations and have lost land we could have mined and farmed; and with that land will go a good portion of our population—a loss of workers and buyers. The great nation of Tortall will topple in a mere few years, and all because of the glorious Peacemaker."

Alanna stared at him. He wanted to bring about national power by overthrowing the king and establishing a great army? As if a grand military were inexpensive! The cheapest way to keep from losing a war would be to form alliances—to _befriend_ their neighboring countries, not scare them! She pointed this out, and Roger laughed.

"Alanna, Alanna, Alanna. You don't understand. Some countries _like_ war. Take Tusaine, for instance. They didn't need an excuse to attack; they did it for fun."

She clenched her teeth. "Murdering Jon and his parents is not the way to achieve Tortallan power, Roger. You won't succeed."

He smiled. "You don't think so? I beg to differ. Already I've disposed of Jarinth, and soon you'll be gone too. And Lianne is as good as dead." He shook his head, and pulled out his sword. "Well, then, Alanna, I'm afraid that's it. I—"

"Roger, what are you doing?"

Alanna and Roger both jumped and turned to the doorway, where King Roald stood, blanched and gripping his sword with a white-knuckled fist.

"Your Majesty, Duke Roger's going to kill me," Alanna squeaked.

"What are you doing in Roger's workshop, Lady Alanna?" the King replied slowly, his eyes flicking from Alanna to Roger.

"She was trying to frame me, Uncle. She was going to make it look like I had been trying to kill you. I assure you the contrary, however: I want only your safety."

Roald's eyes widened. "Trebond?"

"Your Majesty, I swear, that's not what it is! Look—here's a doll of _me_. I've been suspicious of Roger for years, and I know it was a terrible thing to do, but I had to find proof, so I came in here and I found _this_, Your Majesty! Look, it's Her Majesty, and Duke Gareth, and Jon, and Myles, and you—"

Roald took the dolls into his shaking hands, and then, recognizing them, quickly dropped them on the table and stumbled back again.

Alanna heard two more men barge into the main room. Suddenly, both Myles and Duke Gareth appeared behind Roald. Faithful darted between their feet to Alanna.

"Alanna," Myles gasped, staring at her in horror. Duke Gareth and the king both were looking at her with quite the same expression.

She bowed her head. "I'm sorry. I know breaking into his rooms was wrong, but I've suspected Roger for years, and I needed to find proof. I don't care if you punish me for trespassing; I just want to reveal His Grace Duke Roger for what he really is."

"What, a loyal vassal of the royal family?" Roger snapped, enfuriated. "You sneaked these dolls into this room to frame me! After everything I've done for you!"

"With what motive?" she demanded. "Jonathan and Myles are both my friends, Duke Gareth is my teacher, Thom is my brother, Their Majesties are my sovereigns! What reason could I possibly have to want them dead?"

"You don't _need_ to want them dead. This is a plot against me to ruin my reputation. You're jealous of my influence. The royal family is my only family now—why would I want to kill them?"

"You just said it," Myles pointed out quietly, gazing at him. "You and the royal family are the only direct Contés. If they die, I believe you ascend the throne, do you not?"

Roger stepped back from Myles, indignant. "You're ganging up against me!" He swung around to Roald. "Uncle, this was planned ahead of time. This is not just!"

Duke Gareth and Roald both looked aghast, even frightened. They glanced at each other, and then back at Roger. They didn't say anything.

Roger's eyes flamed. "By my rights, I demand trial by combat. Lady Alanna may have the rest of the night to rest, as it will be her last night, for the gods will surely take the liar down."

"Then, at the second bell after dawn, we will meet in the first fencing gallery and prove the truth," Roald murmured hesitantly.

"Indeed," Myles replied lightly, flicking a glance at Roger. Then, he held a hand out to Alanna. "Come, Alanna. You need your sleep."

She swallowed, curtsied to the dukes and king, and obeyed, with Faithful at her heels. Myles escorted her to her room without a word. Only when they were inside did he sink into a chair and bury his face in his hands. "The gods have nothing to do with it, Alanna. Pure talent will win this duel, and, though you're good, he's two times better."

Alanna hugged him. "I love you, Myles. Thanks for helping me tonight." He squeezed her back, and she felt him shake with sobs. "I'm sorry. I had to. He was killing Jon, Roald, Lianne, Thom—he was killing _you_. I couldn't let him get away with that."

Myles nodded and pulled away, sniffling. "I know you couldn't. It's your duty—all that chivalry crap. But, gods, Alanna, I don't want to see you get hurt."

Alanna took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I might not. I just need to prepare adequately."

"Alanna, you have fresh wounds from the Ordeal, and you're a little smaller and a lot younger than he is." Suddenly, he paused, and then shook his head wildly. "What am I saying? I'm sorry. You can do this. You're Alanna. You've fought godly beings, bullies, and knights. Who's Roger?"

She forced a grin. "That's the spirit. Now, I need my sleep. Even after napping all day, I'm pretty dead."

"I can imagine." He stood, and hugged her again. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Thanks, Myles."


	35. The Duel

CHAPTER 35: The Duel

Alanna dozed restlessly for a few hours, and then, an hour before dawn, crawled out of bed again, absently pulled on breeches, a shirt, and boots, and headed for the Great Mother's chapel. She needed to think.

After lighting incense, she kneeled on a pillow nearest the Goddess's statue and bowed her head.

How could she have been so stupid as to enter Roger's room? If she hadn't found anything but had still gotten caught, then she would have been in more than major trouble, especially after earning her shield just hours before.

But she had found something. She had left the King and Duke Gareth both speechless in accusing Roger of treason, which meant they were not completely on his side anymore. They had a hint of suspicion. Even if she did die today in the duel—for it _was_ a fight to the death—she had introduced the idea that Roger was not the god everyone regarded him as.

She didn't want to die, but so what? This was what chivalry, what being a knight meant: to sacrifice oneself for the sake of others. What could be a more honorable death than destroying the angelic mask of the king's worst enemy?

A rustle of cloth made her start and glance up. Her friends were kneeling on pillows on either side of her. Coram, Thom, Rowanna, Jon, Raoul, Gary, Alex, Geoffrey, Sacherell, Douglass—they were all there. They all smiled—if somewhat anxiously at her—and Raoul even gave her a bone-crushing squeeze on her shoulder. She quickly dropped her eyes to the ground again so they would not see the tear that slipped down her cheek. To die would be to leave behind all of these people.

_Then don't die_, a small voice in her head suggested. She frowned. She had to die. Roger was bigger, stronger, and more experienced than she was. _But you know the Bazhir tricks_, she remembered with a small gasp. _Not to mention you're flexible. And Ali taught you to use your disadvantages to your advantage. You're small and therefore quick and sneaky. Lightning's light and can travel faster than any old rapier of his. You're going in prepared to die, so you'll be more of the daredevil with moves unexpected because of their stupidity. He'll be more arrogant. You don't have to die. You can do this._

But her hands! They were still bandaged heavily after the Ordeal. They would be a major disadvantage, attenuating her docility. She flexed her fingers and winced as they throbbed. At least they were sore and not stiff. She would just rebandage them lightly and ignore any pain they caused during the fight.

An hour passed, and as the sun began to peek through the windows, Gary touched her shoulder. She flinched and glanced up.

"We should go. You need to bathe, get dressed, and warm-up, and we want to spend some time with you before this happens."

Alanna shook her head in confusion as they filed out of the chapel. "I don't understand. Why are you guys on my side? You love Roger, and I just accused him of treason."

Her friends glanced at one another, and then Gary hugged her around the shoulders. "Roger didn't save my dearest cousin from the Ysandir."

"Roger didn't banish Ralon from Court," Raoul added; Rowanna grinned.

"Roger didn't make a fool out of Dain of Melor," Geoffrey pointed out.

"Frankly, my dear," Jon joked, his arm joining Gary's around her shoulders, "we may love Roger, but we love you more."

"And we all know he's a son of a bitch anyway," Thom reminded them, and then ducked his head when they all stared at him.

"We heard what you found in his rooms," Douglass explained. "And we heard that he's accusing you of being jealous of his influence over the royal family. But you've never said anything bad about him, and if _you_ don't have influence over Jon, then who does? You story makes more sense than his."

Alanna bowed her head, her face flushed with gratitude. "Thanks, guys."

The next ninety minutes passed too quickly. Then, suddenly, she found herself in her room, stretching for the last time before she headed down to the first fencing gallery. Only Jon, Raoul, Gary, and now Myles were with her; the others had already joined the crowd in the fencing cout. Her friends watched her, and she knew they were wondering if they would ever see her again.

When someone rapped on the door, they jumped. Raoul opened the door to admit a tall, cloaked man. When he lowered his hood, Alanna yipped with delight and threw herself at him in a tight embrace. "George!"

"Congratulations on your shield, lass," he murmured. "That's one adventure, and now you've already started on another one. What comes after this?"

"I'll probably have to run away in humiliation, because everyone will be talking about this one for days to come."

"That's true," he agreed, and clapped her on the back. "Are you ready?"

"Am I ever not?"

"Of course not."

They laughed, and then were interrupted by yet another knock. This time, it was Timon, to announce that they awaited her presence in the first fencing gallery. They glanced at her, and she nodded. "Okay. I can do this."

"Could you guys go ahead? I'd like a word with Alanna first," Jon asked quietly. The others agreed and left, all clapping her on the back, hugging her, and wishing her luck at the same time.

When they were gone, Jonathan kissed her fiercely. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you. I should have. You were terrified and everything."

He refused to meet her eyes, and Alanna realize in shock that he was on the verge of tears. She hugged him. "I love you, Jon. I'm sorry I have to do this to you."

"Don't you die," he ordered. "Promise me you won't die."

She caught his eye, and then bit her lip. Perhaps she could promise him, and then it wouldn't matter if she broke her promise, because she wouldn't be around to face him about it. Her silence did not go unnoticed, and he covered it up with another kiss.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you too," and she kissed him softly in return. Then, they left her room together, their hearts both pounding furiously.

Down in the fencing gallery, all eyes turned to her. Jon hugged her one more time, and then pushed her into the court. She swallowed shakily and walked up next to Roger, who stood in the center of the court before Roald and Lianne.

The herald read the challenge, and then the King stood. "Are you ready, Roger of Conté?" Roger saluted him, and the King asked Alanna, "Are you ready, Alanna of Trebond?" Alanna saluted him. "Salute each other." They obeyed. The King bowed. "Let the combat begin."

Roger was like Alex: he attacked immediately and without warning. After Alex had used this move on her, however, Duke Gareth had trained her in it fiercely for ages afterwards. She knew how to block it. The moments their swords clashed, her qualms vanished. She was fencing again!

The duke jumped back, surprised by her block. Then he flicked his sword, trying to force her to attack and tire herself out. She hardly blinked in reply. He gritted his teeth and swung for her head; she immediately recognized the feint—no idiot would attack so obviously—and blocked him easily at her thigh. Annoyed, he jumped towards her with a torrent of attacks; she blocked a few but tried to dodge most to save energy.

Then, he gave up on childish trickery and attacked in earnest. She skipped back, but not fast enough. He nipped her in the arm, and pain flared. She tried to ignore it, but instead only ended up noticing how the wounds in her sword hand had opened and were bleeding through their bandages. She would have to be careful to keep her hilt from sliding out of her hand.

In her moment of distraction by her pains, Roger slashed at her thigh. She yelped and then blocked his strike to her right side, and then agilely slid her blade forward to slice his own leg and yanked back again to block an attack to her left arm.

Suddenly, she blinked. Was he wielding _two_ swords? No—that couldn't be possible! But he certainly held a blade in both is left and right hands. Where had the other come from?

Faintly, she heard Thom bellow about a foul. Then she realized what had happened: one sword was a magical replica. She swore and grabbed her ember-stone with her left hand, and immediately an orange mist emanated from the sword in his right hand. So she was supposed to be fighting the sword in his left hand! She swore, and only just managed to dodge an attack from the real sword, having been preparing for the fake one. With the ember-stone's help, she could keep his swords straight, but, after awhile, it became more difficult, as sweat dripped into her eyes and he switched the real blade from one hand to the other.

Then, Alanna's right arm dragged. The cut from Roger and her hand proved too much strain; she would have to switch arms. This disturbance, however, cost her greatly. All of a sudden, Roger's sword dug into her flesh at her collarbone and tore down to her waist. She shrieked and leapt away. The gash was not fatally deep, but that didn't mean it didn't burn like Chaos.

"I guess girls aren't meant for swordplay afterall, dearie," Roger hissed. He swept his sword for her head; she jumped out of the way, but not far enough, and the side of the blade collided with her cheek. Fire burst in her face.

With that, Alanna had had enough. He had cheated, he had hurt her, and now he was just ticking her off—and _he_ was the wrongdoer in the first place. This duel needed to end.

Her ember-stone in her right hand, Alanna shoved Roger's sword out of the way, and then swung up and down towards his head; he made to block it, but then she pulled back and stabbed for his chest. He reacted just in time and jumped to the side, but not quickly enough. She pierced his shoulder deeply, and then yanked back again. He bellowed, but had no time to react as she fell into a fierce onslaught of attacks. He stumbled back, even dropping his illusion spell as he aimed his full concentration on evading her blade. His two attempted attacks failed miserably, and Alanna knew by the look on his face that he realized there was no stopping her.

Roger swore and, suddenly, an orange cloud puffed up around him. Alanna jumped back, alarmed, as an arm of the cloud lurched towards her. Around her, the spectators gasped. Alanna stared at her opponent, confused. He held his sword in between them, but it obviously didn't hold his attention as he concentrated fiercely on his spell. He could not attack her with his blade, and the magic seemed more determined to keep her at bay than to do harm. Her eyebrows burrowed, but then a cry tore her attention from Roger. She glanced up in Roald's direction to find him and Jon, at his side, shrinking back from two more arms of the orange cloud. Jonathan was trying furiously to throw up shields, but the cloud swept through them easily.

Alanna did not stop to think. Her Prince was in danger. With a shriek, she sliced through the cloud attacking her and lunged forward to stab Roger in the chest. She yanked back as he swung around to look at her in shock, and then she leapt forward again, and again. He blinked, and glanced down at her blade buried just inches under his chin. He stumbled back and fell to his knees, wrenching the hilt from her hand. She stepped back and watched, her heart thudding mercilessly, as blood spurted from his mouth, and then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the ground, dead.


	36. Farewells

CHAPTER 36: Farewells

"Could I _pay_ you to stay?" Raoul asked hopefully, hugging Alanna so tightly she winced.

"How much?" she replied playfully, and then shook her head. "I want to go and travel a bit. Breathe some."

"And battle dragons and rescue damsels in distress," Gary sighed dramatically. "That's a lady knight for you—always has to be out and running around."

"Can't I be a damsel in distress?" Jon complained. "Come back and rescue _me_."

"I'll come back someday—I hope. Unless I get chopped up by bandits or accidentally fall off a cliff."

"Hey, if you die, I'm never letting you out on your own again," Jon warned.

"I won't be alone. I'll have Coram, and Faithful, of course."

"Yeah—'of course,' because the cat totally counts," Gary retorted.

Just then, Coram entered the stable where the friends were exchanging their last good-byes, and he bowed stiffly. "My lords, Your Highness. Lass, you ready?"

"I hope so." She glanced around, peering out over the scarf wound about her face. She had just bundled up into all of the snowgear she could manage, wanting to ensure a warm ride south that icy winter week.

"We should get going soon if we want to reach the next wayhouse by dark."

She nodded, and then hugged Raoul and Gary one last time, trying not to cry. "I'll miss you guys."

"We'll miss you more," Raoul whispered back.

Then they stepped aside so George could have his turn. He swept her up into his arms for a full minute, and then kissed her forehead before whispering, "You'll come back to me?"

"If I don't, I might have to hurt myself."

"That's my lass," he laughed, hugging her briefly once again before sidling off with Raoul and Gary to give her and Jon some space.

"Can I beg you to stay one last time?" Jon pleaded. "I'll let you beat me at all of our fencing duels and horse races."

Alanna giggled. "I beat you at those anyway." She hugged him. "Love you."

He pulled her scarf down from over her mouth and kissed her warmly, and then stepped away. "You can go off and do great deeds for now, but when I become king, you're to be right at my side to help chop up all my enemies, understand?"

"Yes, my liege," she joked.

They kissed again, and then joined the others. Alanna mounted Moonlight, checked to make sure her saddlebags were secure and that Faithful was comfortable in his cup, and then waved to her friends one last time. "I'll be back soon enough, I promise."

"Lass, you ready?" Coram asked.

"Of course I am. Let's go."

As they swung out into the blistering cold, her four friends were left back in the stables, watching her disappear.

"You know, I remember when we first met that runt," Gary sighed as they trudged down to the Dancing Dove for a drink. "'Yes, my lord Gareth,' 'No, my lord Gareth,' 'I'll shine your shoes, my lord Gareth.'"

"Gods, where did she lose all her manners?" Raoul demanded.

The others glanced at him, and laughed.

"Wherever she did," George answered, "I'm glad she did, because what we got left with is one heck of a woman."

"What we got left with," Jon replied, "is a lady knight."


End file.
